The Dreaming Kind
by Midnight Lady
Summary: Harry Potter crossover. Ignoring Book 6.
1. A New Beginning

Author's Note—

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

**I know—I'm a bad author for going back and altering stuff in the middle of the story. A true author would have all of that worked out before he/she posted or just be willing to work with what they had created. I really am sorry.**

This story is a crossover between Labyrinth and Harry Potter. If you're not a HP fan then you might not want to read this because this story will be leaning heavily on that universe. Really this is just my attempt to explain stuff that's been bothering me from both sides, and amazingly these two worlds mesh really well.

I'm ignoring Book 6, except for a few tiny details which probably won't be noticed by anyone. If you do notice, then wow. I'm impressed.

As I did not understand the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. systems prior to Book 6—just go with me on the class schedules. It'll be easier that way.

Disclaimer—

I do not own these characters. Neither the Harry Potter world nor Labyrinth belongs to me. Good Heavens, I wish they did. This story is rated 'T' for language and maybe something more later on.

* * *

Chapter One—A New Beginning

Sarah Williams cocked her head and turned her face into the gentle breeze. She loved this time of night, when the hum of insects filled the air and the sun was just beginning to set; soon it would catch everything up in a rosy-golden glow and soften the evidence of human hands. This was the moment when Time stood still and everything was right in the world.

Relaxing against her bench, she let the warm air tickle her face, enjoying the sensation, and fancifully imagined it was trying to talk to her, whispering secrets meant only for her ears. Laughing at her own wistfulness, the brunette looked upward, hoping to see the first stars of the night make their modest appearance and turned her mind back to the reason why she was at the park in the first place.

Sarah had dreams. They happened every time she fell asleep, whether for the night or from an afternoon nap. She would shut her eyes and they would begin. She learned things in her dreams. The proper way to hold a wand, the ingredients needed to make a love potion, several ways to curse an enemy. One night she would have a one-on-one tutorial with a vaudin priestess on the subtle art of voodoo and then the next afternoon (a quick rest before dinner) she was out in a field watching a reenactment of the Icelandic Orc Massacre of 1211.

They were never the same, her dreams. Each time she slept, she learned something new, was taught a new technique of wand movement and a new fabulously sounding word to recite. Her teachers changed occasionally, a new face to replace an old one.

She had thought once, when she first defeated the Labyrinth, that she would grow up, grow out of her fantasy world, become a mature adult having seen for herself how daydreaming could end in trouble. But she didn't. She couldn't. To give up those dreams would be to deny what she had been through, ignore the lessons she had learned at the devious hands of the Goblin King. To refute the very existence of magic, of the Underground and all its wondrous possibilities was something she could not do. Why would she want to? That knowledge made life a little more special.

So she continued believing, kept up her friendship with the creatures she had met in the Underground: a gentle giant with a fearsome face and a unique gift with words, a noble fox with a Don Quixote complex, and a surly dwarf who turned out to be the best friend she could ever hope for. And when she slept, and the dreams came—so powerful she had difficulty deciding if she was awake or not—she couldn't ignore those either. Sometimes, she woke whispering complicated spells, and for a frantic second or two, waited with in-drawn breath to see if anything happened. Nothing ever did.

She had been disappointed at first, when nothing changed shape and no one understood the strange words she said, but she accepted that her dreams would have to stay dreams, and looked forward to the next lesson and the next imaginary thing learned. How could she not? It was one more tie to the Underground.

But why, she had wondered (almost from the beginning), could she dream of a world so completely and yet it not _be_ real, when there _was_ a 'real' world made entirely of dreams?

Perhaps, having seen a place found only in fairy tales, her subconscious was creating this new world, hoping to find one day that, it too, existed. It seemed that her imagination had gone into overdrive since returning from her journey through the Labyrinth.

"Too many thoughts," she murmured. Rising from the bench, Sarah set off at a leisurely pace down the park path, no real destination in mind. She loved this park; it was serene and welcoming and rarely visited by anyone other than the occasional mother with a stroller. Now though, with night slowly chasing away the day, the park was hers.

When her wanderings led her to the stone bridge that crossed the small pond, she stopped. For almost a year and a half, since that day she first saw the owl, she had avoided this area. It was silly, she knew, but this part of the park she associated with the Labyrinth; with its King. Here she had recited lines from her red playbook and wished with all her heart for her dreams to come true. And they had.

"You're being stupid," she told herself, unable to take that first step across. To do so would mean…what? "It would mean I walked over a bridge," she grumbled. Gathering her resolve, her feet took one step...two…four…six. She was on the other side. It was a rather anticlimactic moment and she wondered what she had been expecting.

The tiniest of movements drew her eyes upward into the green leaves of a giant oak tree. Wide, golden eyes peered down at her like jewels among the foliage. A bird launched itself from among the branches, swooping to perch on a bench a few feet from where she stood. It was an owl.

_Brown. The owl is brown. It's not…it's only a bird. _Taking deep breaths to steady the fear that had rushed through her—was it fear?—Sarah studied the creature, her eyes searching it for a sign of…something.

The owl hooted softly, shifting its feet oddly on the bench where it sat. The movement brought Sarah's eyes downward and her heart resumed beating at a ridiculous pace.

_A letter? The owl brought me a letter?_

The brunette stepped cautiously forward; ready to jump back should the bird become hostile. Reaching slowly, she untied the proffered letter from the leg of the bird and recoiled in alarm as it launched itself into the evening sky.

She watched it for a moment, her mind whirling, thoughts darting to and fro. Looking down at the envelope in her hands, she stared in confusion at the address.

_Miss S.Williams  
The Wooden Bench  
Gracemoore Park  
USA_

The old clock tower at the center of the small town's square announced the time, half-past six, shattering the silence of the park.

"Damnit." Shoving the letter into the back pocket of her jeans, the girl took off running, her long hair flying like a banner behind her.

Several minutes later, she came to an abrupt halt at the front porch of her house, her step-mother looking disappointedly down on her.

"Sarah, you know better than this," were the words that greeted her.

"I know, I know," she panted out, trying to regain her breath. "I lost track of time. Sorry."

"Well, it's a good thing we changed our reservations for a later spot," spoke Karen in a resigned tone as she moved to let her step-daughter in the door. "There's money for delivery or last night's leftovers in the fridge."

"Thanks," said Sarah as she sat down on the floor where three-year-old Toby was playing with super large Legos.

"Robert! It's twenty 'till, we have fifteen minutes to get there before the reservations are let go," Karen called up the stairs to where her husband was searching for his wallet. "It's on the top of the dresser, right next to your keys," she said after a minute of silence.

Sarah looked up from where she sat and shared a small smile with her step-mother. In the past year and a half, Sarah and Karen's relationship had taken a drastic turn toward creating an affable and healthy household. While the two still disagreed over many issues, Karen had become, if not a friend, at the very least a respected individual.

"All right, let's go," said Robert Williams as he trotted down the stairs. Blowing a kiss to his daughter and waving goodbye to his son, he grabbed his jacket from the coat-rack and opened the front door to follow his wife, but stopped when he saw the woman waiting on the porch.

She stood before them with a broad smile, wearing a skirt and matching suit jacket. She looked all of twenty years old, her blonde hair up in a ponytail. A ragged looking backpack was slung over her left shoulder.

"Sarah, there's someone at the door for you," called Karen, assuming the woman to be a friend of her step-daughter. Nodding her head in a brisk greeting, she attempted to pass by the stranger, only to be stopped by an upraised hand.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. My name is Stephanie Alcott and I work for the American Division of Muggles to Magic, may I come in?" Not waiting for an answer she slid between the two and entered the living room where she spied Sarah and Toby looking at her curiously.

"Sarah Williams. Delighted to meet you! My name is Stephanie Alcott as I just mentioned to your parents, I insist on being called Stephanie, and I'm sure the two of us will get along fabulously. Mr. and Mrs. Williams if you'll please sit down, we have much to discuss and many papers to sign," she said indicating a couch for the two adults and letting her bag drop to the floor.

"She's not a friend of yours?" Robert asked his daughter. Sarah shook her head mutely.

"What do you want Ms. Alcott, and where exactly did you say you worked?" questioned Karen, a suspicious frown on her face.

"Please, it's just Stephanie, and I work for the American Division of Muggle to Magic, or ADMM; we're a branch of the United Muggle to Magic League. Our organization helps new witches and wizards from Muggle families learn about and adjust to a world of magic. Your daughter Sarah is a witch. I am here to help you and Sarah with her paperwork as well as answer any questions you or she may have and to show her around Raven's Grotto, the local wizard community."

Sarah's heart started pounding. _Witch. Magic._ Could it be possible? Were her dreams more than her overactive imagination—were they real? She glanced at her father and step-mother and choked down a snicker. The two were openly goggling at Stephanie, her father fighting a rising anger.

"Ms. Alcott, I'm going to ask you to please leave. Whatever it is you're selling, we're not interested."

Shocking blue eyes slid quickly to Sarah and the woman winked. "Mr. Williams, I am selling nothing but the chance for your daughter to have the education of a lifetime." From inside the sleeve to her jacket, the woman pulled out a long, thin piece of wood, smooth and a very dark red. _"Wingardium Leviosa!" _she said, her voice strong, the words precise and clear.

The horridly floral but surprisingly comfortable couch in the front room rose an inch off the floor, floated up behind Karen and Robert Williams and bumped the back of their knees just enough to cause them to sit down, their legs buckling under them.

Both jumped up right away, Karen's hands to her mouth and Robert pulling his wife away from the bewitched monstrosity. When the piece of furniture did not move again, Robert turned to Stephanie, a question in his eyes and on his tongue. Karen looked to Sarah where she had risen from the floor with Toby in her arms. Crossing the room in three short strides, she took her son from his sister's grasp and clutched him tightly, making the boy squirm and protest. Edging in the direction of his family, Robert kept his gaze alternating on Stephanie and the couch, his concern leading him to prod the offending piece of furniture with his foot before quickly moving away.

Smiling tolerantly as if people backing away in fright were an every day occurrence, Stephanie turned to where the Williams family stood together and waved her wand with a dramatic flourish. A few Latin words and a jet of purple light shot to the scattering of Legos on the floor. Twitching and jerking all over the place, they tumbled from the haphazard tower Toby had built and reformed into a miniature, multi-colored chair. And then it grew. Robert pushed his family behind him, arms spread wide and hurriedly backing away as the chair grew in size, changing colors and shape slightly until, when it was done it was a perfect match to the rest of the room.

Stephanie spoke then, in a quiet voice, knowing her words would be more startling than what they had just witnessed. "I mean your family no harm, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. I am a witch, I can do magic. Your daughter Sarah is a witch; she can do exactly what I just did. Or will, with the right education. And more, so much more. Please, would you have a seat? I really wish only to speak with you."

When it became apparent that her father and Karen were unwilling to move, Sarah stepped around them and made a show of settling into the new chair. Though it had once been hard plastic, its transformed state was remarkably comfortable. "I don't believe she means us any harm; if she did, she could have done it by now. I would like to hear what she has to tell us," she said.

Karen was glancing between her step-daughter and the witch, her arms around her son. "Robert…" was all she managed to say.

Looking at the utter lack of fear on his daughter's face, Robert made up his mind. "Very well, Ms. Alcott. We'll listen," he said, just a hint of strain in his voice. Putting an arm around Karen, he directed his wife to the couch, gave it one more prod with his shoe, and reluctantly sat. Toby squirmed from his mother's grasp and ran over to inspect the remaining pieces of his former Lego set. Sarah ran her fingers through his hair as he knelt by her legs.

"There are two types of people in this world," Stephanie began, "non-magic users, also called 'Muggles,' and magic-users, commonly known as witches or wizards. Mr. and Mrs. Williams, I am here today to introduce your daughter Sarah to her new world, the Wizarding world. Our agency, Muggles to Magic, sends representatives when a Muggle child shows signs of magical power." Here she nodded once, walked to the only empty chair in the room and sat, placid and patently ignoring the stunned faces of the Williams family. The adults were still in shock, but Sarah was trying hard not to jump for joy.

_Be logical, think this through,_ she told herself, willing her heart to stop pounding. "I haven't done any magic, Ms. Alcott," she said, inwardly delighted that her voice had been steady.

"It's Stephanie, and no, you haven't. You have not done any magic and are in fact about eight years late coming into your powers." Turning to Karen and Robert, "Most young witches and wizards show their powers early in life, being constantly around magic and all, but new magic-users from Muggle families often take an extra boost to get started. Usually, it shows when the child becomes angry or afraid or excited, triggered by any strong emotion, and normally around the ages of nine or ten.

"When that happens, all pertinent information about the new witch or wizard shows up in our books: name, address, age, time and place of first magical experience, what magic occurred, and so on. A representative is then sent to inform the family of the child's new situation and to help make sure the transition from Muggle to Magic goes smoothly." She turned her bright blue eyes to Sarah.

"Your daughter, though, we have virtually no information about her—only a name, address, and age. No data even, on what triggered her powers. There are late bloomers of course, but those children's powers generally manifest before age fourteen. At almost seventeen, Sarah, you are one of the oldest recorded witches to come into her power."

From the couch, Karen spoke, her voice uncertain. "How…how is she a witch…if she came from a…Muggle family?"

"That is unfortunately a question I cannot answer," Stephanie sighed. "We do not know what causes a Muggle family to produce a magic child and a magic family to have a non-magical child. I myself came from a Muggle family; I was the youngest child and the only one to show any magical talent." Glancing over at the young woman who was avidly absorbing all that was being discussed, the witch hesitated for a quick minute, "Sarah, this information isn't exactly new to you, is it?"

She started, Stephanie's question catching her by surprise. Her head was buzzing with far too many thoughts. The implications of what was happening had not escaped her. She had fought her way through a fantastical maze, faced down a slew of bizarre creatures and a magical King to rescue her baby brother from being turned into a goblin, almost two years ago. The night of her return she had started dreaming of another magical world in which she was able to do the sorts of things she had played at as a small girl. And now, apparently, here was this woman coming to introduce her to all the hidden secrets of being a magic-user, an ordinary enough occurrence, except that the agency which dealt with this sort of thing, had no information on her. Sarah wondered at what she should tell the woman and her family.

"There was an…incident…about two years ago," she began, casting her father and Karen a furtive glance. "Since then…I've known there were people who could do magic." _I wanted with all my heart to be one of them._

"Sarah? Why didn't you tell us about it?" her step-mother asked, a hurt look on her face.

"Would we have believed her?" was her husband's counter. He threw a look at their guest, "I'm still having trouble with this."

"It is a lot to take in all at once," agreed the young witch.

"It wasn't anything big, Karen," Sarah fibbed, her lips quirking at the lie. She didn't really think her father and step-mother would appreciate knowing she had wished away her brother in a fit of adolescent rage. "It was just something that happened one night, not a big deal."

Their guest was watching Sarah, her eyes thoughtful. "You don't have to elaborate if it makes you uncomfortable, but whatever happened must have been what triggered your powers. Though I am uncertain as to why our agency was not notified until three days ago. By the by, I hear you got an acceptance letter; that's wonderful news! Whose did you receive?" she asked in a quick switch of topic. "You don't necessarily go to whichever school is closest, you know. A friend of mine from Montreal lived only a few miles from the Académie de Magie and figured she'd be attending that school. She got an offer from them _and_ Salem Academy in Massachusetts, but chose Salem because it had a better Charms curriculum. So, which school sent a letter?"

Sarah's mind drew a blank as she tried to process the sudden rush of information. She gave it up as a lost cause and asked Stephanie to repeat her question.

"You received a letter, right? It was our understanding that a notice of acceptance was dispatched for you today." She looked concerned and picked up her backpack, pulling out a folder and rifling through the papers within. "It says right here," she announced pulling a sheaf from the mess, "_'owl courier was dispatched from Hogsmeade Postal at 12:24 pm on June 16,' —_blah, blah, blah—_'arrived at the Raven's Grotto Office'—_la de da_—'letter was received by the intended recipient at 6:29 pm on June 16_._' _"

"What exactly is owl courier?" asked Karen.

"Oh, we don't have a post office like Muggles do. We use birds, owls most of the time, to deliver letters and packages. It is much more efficient and less risky than Muggle snail mail. You did receive your letter tonight, didn't you, Sarah?"

Sarah pulled from her back pocket the envelope she had hastily shoved there what seemed like hours ago. She gazed at the seal with interest and was careful not to tear it as she opened the flap. She pulled out a letter, hands trembling.

_Dear Miss Williams,_

_We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are aware of your situation and feel that, with the private tutoring you have received, you will do well as a member in our seventh year classes._

_Enclosed is a list of supplies needed. We expect your owl no later than July 1st._

_Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

She handed the letter and envelope to Stephanie, hoping the witch could help explain. She watched in fascination as the woman's eyebrows drew together and then proceeded to rise upwards as her eyes grew larger and larger.

"You've been accepted at Hogwarts. It's the most prestigious Wizarding school in all of Europe, the world actually. It's quite an honor. Although, it was the understanding at the office that you were an untrained witch and untrained witches do not join in with the most advanced classes at the world's best school." She gave the letter and envelope to the two on the couch and stared expectantly at Sarah.

"I've—had dreams, lots of them actually, whenever I sleep, and I always dreamt of," she faltered, "...this. Of spells and potions and magic. I thought they were only dreams, they never worked when I tried it awake. I even went and researched some of the stuff I learned at the library, but I never found anything."

"_Nivanos Es,_ the Dream teachers. They taught you while you were asleep and brought you up to the same level as students your own age. Amazing. Well, at least you won't require ADMM supplied tutors. And no Muggle library would have any of the information you were looking for; we do our best to keep the two worlds separate. How did you pay for your instruction if your parents, and you for that matter, knew nothing about it?"

"A benefactor," spoke Robert Williams as he read through a second letter from the envelope. "The same benefactor who will be paying for your school supplies and your tuition at Hogwarts. An account has been started at," he stumbled over a strange word, "Gringotts Bank and you will be provided with a monthly allowance."

"He or she will also be paying for Toby when he goes to Hogwarts," spoke Karen, her voice soft and confused.

Sarah's mouth felt dry and her tongue refused to move. How was she to answer the unspoken questions? She could only think of one person who could possibly be aware of and influential in the hidden world of magic as well as take such an interest in herself and her brother, but it couldn't possibly be _him_, could it? Why? Why would he?

"I honestly have no idea why this person is helping me."

"A mystery then," spoke Stephanie, breaking the silence in the room. "Fantastic! I'm a sucker for a good puzzle. Sarah, you've just made my day twice over," she said with a cheery smile. "All right, so you've been introduced to our world, you're on par with your peer group, you've got your school picked out and money issues solved — this meeting is coming along much more quickly than they usually do. Wonderful!"

Stephanie thumbed through a thick stack of papers in the folder, pulling out several. These she handed to Robert and Karen as well as a pen. "As your daughter is still considered a minor by Muggle and Wizarding law, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, my agency needs you to fill out these forms of transfer at Sarah's high school. As well as these forms of acceptance of entry into the Universal Society of Magic Wielders, or the Wizarding world as most people call it. It's really just a bunch of nonsense created by boring government officials who want to make the transition seem more than it really is. Just ignore the big words and sign on the dotted line."

Robert and Karen flipped through the papers, skimming over lengthy paragraphs written in shimmering gold ink.

"Is this what you want, Sarah? Do you want to go to this school? Leave everyone here behind?" asked her father, looking at his daughter, his lips set in an unhappy line.

She had forgotten.

Her friends from school. She'd never had a lot, but those she had were dear to her and accepting of her little quirks, just as she was of theirs. Her father and Karen. Toby. Could she leave her family? After striving so hard to have a happy, normal home life, could she leave? Go across the world to attend a school she hadn't heard of until a few minutes ago, to learn things she had ever only let herself dream about?

"Yes."

Her father signed the papers.

"Very good, Sarah," said Stephanie. "I'll just turn over these forms to be processed and everything will be all set." She took the papers back from Sarah's father and placed everything back into her bag. "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, I'm sure the two of you have a dinner date to attend. You might be a little late, but I had to catch all of you at home together. Sarah, if you'll just gather up anything your brother might require in the next few hours, we three shall be off."

"Wait, where are you going?" cried Karen.

"Shopping. Sarah needs to get her school supplies, and she really should be shown how to get to Raven's Grotto rather than told. Wouldn't want her to get lost. Toby is welcome to tag along, I'm sure you and your husband will have much to talk about at dinner," she explained.

"Shouldn't we be going with you?" asked her father.

"It's not necessary. The three of us will be fine. We're only going shopping. I can arrange a tour for the whole family at a later date if you wish. But you two really should hurry up, those reservations won't hold forever." Stephanie's cheerful chatter followed the two adults all the way to their car and before they realized what was happening, the vehicle was pulling into the restaurant parking lot.

"Do you think we did the right thing, Robert?"

"I don't know. Sarah seemed happy."

"Yes, she did. I'm worried though. This whole situation is peculiar. Who is that private benefactor and why on Earth would they help Sarah and Toby? And Sarah knows more than she's letting on, did you hear her back there? She wasn't truthful with us, she evaded our questions and that Alcott woman let her."

"Karen, what have we learned today?" asked Robert, the more pragmatic of the two.

"What do you mean?"

"We've learned that there is an entirely _different_ world out there. One full of magic and all the fantasy nonsense Sarah has always dreamed about. One I, _we,_ have always told her doesn't exist. If she seems to know more about what's going on than she says she does, I think I can live with that.

"If you have the impression that there is large part of some cosmic picture we're missing, you're probably right. But I'm resigned to that. I have been for two years, when my angry, irate daughter grew up practically overnight. If this opportunity, this _magic world_, is what she wants and will make her happy, then I will support her completely."

"That's it then?"

"That's it."

A sigh. "I wonder what it is they learn at a magic school. Hopefully something other than Feng Shui."

A snort of laughter was her only answer.

* * *


	2. Nevermore

Author's Note—

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

**I know—I'm a bad author for going back and altering stuff in the middle of the story. A true author would have all of that worked out before he/she posted or just be willing to work with what they had created. I really am sorry.**

Disclaimer—No. I do not own these characters. I'm not that talented.

* * *

Chapter Two—"_Nevermore"_

It was all unreal. It couldn't be real. She did not own a trunk full of spell books, there weren't shopping bags containing outrageous ingredients for magical potions, it wasn't possible that her closet was now bursting with black robes and wizard hats for a school half-way around the world. She had imagined the whole thing, just one more of her crazy dreams. Hazel eyes closed and reopened to find things exactly as they were a second ago.

Feeling lightheaded, Sarah flung herself on her bed, seeking solace in the familiar comfort of her pillows. The past few hours had been eventful and confusing. And completely magical.

Apparently, her favorite used bookstore, owned by sweet Mrs. Harowell, was actually just a front for one of the lesser-used entrances into New England's second largest wizard community. A door she had never noticed before led right into Mr. Harowell's Spot O' Tea, a charming tea room which boasted the finest brews from around the world. Mrs. Harowell, who had baby-sat for Sarah many years ago, was shocked to see her supposedly former Muggle charge walk into her store in the company of Stephanie Alcott, the woman responsible for overseeing the transition to magic for all the children from Muggle families in the states of Maine and New Hampshire. Born into a Muggle family herself, Mrs. Harowell was overjoyed to discover Sarah was a 'late bloomer' and offered her advice should Sarah ever need another Muggle-born to talk with. The woman then turned to Toby and proceeded to fuss over the boy who minded not one bit and happily took the sweets she offered him. After only a bit of persuasion, Mrs. Harowell convinced Sarah to let her watch the little boy while the two women went shopping.

Raven's Grotto had been beyond words for Sarah. It was everything she could have hoped for and so much more. In her dreams she had studied the history and the 'how to' of being a witch, but she hadn't learned what it was like to _be_ one. She had never walked through a wizard community and in fact, had never met with any of her teachers in anything other than a school related setting.

Seeing the everyday life of the people of Raven's Grotto was a prized experience. There were shops that sold normal things like clothes and candy and then there were the shops which sold flying broomsticks and magic wands. There were bistros and bookstores and one building at the corner of Grindlehook and Smithey had a belfry.

Adults chatted and laughed as they window shopped the store fronts or walked purposefully down the street, rushing off to somewhere undoubtedly important. The children who had run through the boulevard didn't find it odd to see a wild looking old woman calling out, "Fresh salamander extract, teeth, and tail! Sure to cure the common cold! Only 3 sickles a pound!"

A half dozen teens, just around her age, exited from a candy store. Four in the group were dressed in the flowing robes Sarah had mentally dubbed "wizard wear" but two of the teens wore jeans and t-shirts. Stephanie pointed out the two teenagers and commented on how they were probably from a Muggle family.

"I don't have to wear those robes then?" Sarah had asked, a little relieved. Stephanie had laughed.

"Only at school, and probably any 'decent' place you go, like a nice restaurant or any sort of government-run facility. There's no rule that says you have to wear the robes, but they're part of our history and there's no small amount of pride attached to those things. The wizard community in general tends to change more slowly than the Muggle community, so fashions from a hundred years ago might still be in style with relatively few alterations. For those of us from Muggle families, it's a real annoyance; give me jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt anytime. Luck for me, I deal with Muggles so often that it's better if I wear Muggle clothes—seems to frighten people less."

For all the strangeness of Raven's Grotto, it had felt just like any other town. It struck Sarah to be a sort of parallel version of her own small city with commerce and business an active hub in the center and comfortable homes skirting around the outer edges of the settlement.

The two women had turned to Gringotts Bank after a quick foray through the center of Raven Square (the town and square being named after a witch from the 1700s who apparently kept the whole village from annihilation during a poorly planned Sasquatch migration by leading the creatures around the town and up through the lower parts of Canada) and Sarah had paused at the sight of the honor guard at the front door of the large building.

"No need to worry," assured Stephanie as they entered the bank, "they're just goblins. Incredibly smart creatures, they run the only chain of wizard banks in existence; over forty Gringotts world wide. Their main branch is in Diagon Alley, out of London. A very lively place I'm told, though I've never had a chance to visit. One of the great things with having goblins in charge of your money—they insist on using the same type of currency in every country. Sickles, knuts, and galleons are used by witches and wizards all over the globe. Wish the Muggles could do the same."

"Oh," said Sarah, "I know what goblins are. One of my teachers was a goblin actually and we focused entirely on goblin current events for nearly two months. We also did their history and I made it to the beginnings of Gobbledygook. It's just…I've seen goblins in person already, before my teacher I mean, and the ones I met weren't very smart and I certainly wouldn't trust them with my money. They didn't look like this either; they weren't as—uniformly pointy as these goblins are."

"Are you sure they were goblins?" Stephanie had asked, curious.

"Very sure."

"Hmmm…well, I don't really know how to answer that. They could have been some sort of hybrid or half-blood I guess. I really would like to know your story, Sarah. It sounds like quite a tale. But anyways, here we are. Now where's that letter?" she asked searching around in her backpack. The two women had reached one of the counters and a goblin was waiting impatiently to help them.

"Ah, here. We would like to withdraw from vault—uh oh, there's no vault number given here," she said sounding surprised. In her hand she held the letter which dictated the wishes of Sarah's benefactor and apparently did _not_ give the Gringotts vault number for her new account. "I hadn't noticed before. Strange. Well, here," she said to the goblin attendant, offering him the parchment, "I hope you know who this is from because we sure don't."

"You are Sarah Williams?" the goblin had asked, black eyes scanning the sheet only to snap to hers in surprise.

"Yes."

The goblin made a noise and abruptly turned, walking behind the counter until he came to a table away from the bustle of the bank and its occupants. The lone goblin at the table looked up from where he was counting out a large pile of what looked like emeralds and read over the letter he was handed. Sarah could feel the goblin's eyes all the way from where she stood as the new one stared hard at her. He said something that she couldn't hear, and the first goblin rushed off with a quick nod. Curious eyes searched hers for something before returning to the jewels spread out on the table.

The first goblin returned shortly carrying a respectable sized money pouch. "The stipulations say we must fetch the money for you. This is the specified amount given by the owner of the account. You may withdraw again on the 1st of each month with one allowable emergency removal during a six month period."

"Thank you," Sarah said. "I'll be leaving for England in a few months and I'll have to use the Gringotts over there. Do I need to transfer funds or change vault numbers or something?"

"No," he said. "Tell them your name. They will know you."

"Oh. Thank you."

The walk out of Gringotts Bank had seemed to last an eternity and Sarah could feel every little beady goblin-eye in the place following her.

After the oddness at the bank it felt good to go out and _shop_. Sarah saw more of the town and loved all that she glimpsed. There was an old-time feel to everything. Torches and lanterns lit the brick pathways and candlelight burned merrily in windowsills. With the old-fashioned clothing people were wearing, the stuffy clothing and feathered hats, Sarah felt the town could have come straight from Dickens himself. She never wanted to leave.

Their shopping led them all over and around the Square until they stopped before a pleasant looking brick building with bright yellow shutters on the windows. 'Witch Wand?' read a large sign. The proprietress of the shop, one Miss Aralia Whittlebird, was a plain faced young woman with bright red hair who wasted no time with pleasantries.

"My wands mirror their owners. I will find you the wand which most closely compliments you. Hold out your wand hand."

Sarah's right arm extended and was roughly grabbed by the woman. She studied the hand closely, making unintelligible noises as her fingers traced over crease lines and faded scars.

"Fine then," she declared, having abruptly dropped Sarah's hand. The woman turned to the shelves behind her, her red hair glinting orange in the candle light, and pulled out several long, thin boxes. Removing them from their cases, she placed ten wands in a row on the counter before Sarah. "I have you narrowed down to these ten wands. Pick one and try it out, your match is in this group."

Starting at the right end, Sarah picked up a wand and felt nothing. The second was no different as were the third and fourth. It was at wand number nine that something finally happened. Warmth shot through her hand and her whole body gave a shudder as she felt something shift within her. The wand released a small shower of brilliant white lights that hung suspended in the air before slowly descending to the floor where they faded from sight.

"That wand is made from the bark of a Rowan, a very special type of tree with a history older than I care to contemplate. The core is the powdered incisor from a very large minotaur I chanced upon once some years ago. The creature had failed to answer a sphinx's riddle and was grateful enough to offer me some substances for my wands after I healed his wounds. Six galleons twelve knuts."

Sarah paid Miss Whittlebird and left the store, her new wand back in its box and stowed safely in a sack with some of her other purchases.

"Aralia isn't the friendliest person, but she's one of the best at what she does. While most wand-makers stick with the traditional stuff, Aralia goes out and works with all sorts of unorthodox ingredients. The Wand Guild kicked up a real fuss when she started experimenting, but the wands work fine and no customer has complained," confided Stephanie as the two women headed back to the Spot O' Tea shop and through to the bookstore where Sarah's brother and Mrs. Harowell had been waiting.

From there it had been a short trip back to the Williams' house where Stephanie had helped Sarah carry her new things into her bedroom. Toby was put to bed, although he'd been asleep the whole ride home, and Stephanie had said her farewells to Sarah.

"This should be just about everything. The paperwork is finished, the shopping trip eventful, and you've been shown around your local Wizarding community. I think you're all set. Now, as your representative in the American Division of Muggle to Magic, I'll be keeping in touch with you and your school over the summer. Feel free to send me an owl if you have any questions."

"An owl?" Sarah had asked, forgetting the discussion earlier that night.

"Darn! We forgot to buy you an owl. Students are allowed certain pets at Hogwarts, and most of the time it's an owl because they can carry the mail and whatnot. Although, since you're going overseas, it's probably a moot point anyway. You'll have to use the Post Office in Hogsmeade and they'll send your letters over here. Now, I do have a phone, you can call me if you need to," she explained, fishing out a business card from a pocket and handing it to Sarah. "You can go back to Raven's Grotto some time and buy an owl then if you'd like. Oh, and if your parents have any questions or concerns, tell them to call me, that's what I'm here for."

"Thank you, for all your help," said Sarah.

"Not a problem, I love my job. Lots and lots of shopping trips. Well, I'm off then. Take care, Sarah. And remember, no magic until you're on school property," she said. With a broad grin and a wink, she disappeared from Sarah's room before the girl's very astonished eyes.

_Disapperated_, her mind had corrected as she marveled at the phenomenon

It had all happened. It really had.

_She was a witch!_

Sitting up on her bed, she wanted to squeal, to shout, to scream out her happiness. If it weren't for her brother asleep just down the hall, she would have done so. Instead she leapt from the bed and crossed to her vanity mirror. Sitting in the chair she called out, "Hoggle? Ludo? Sir Didymus? Oh, please answer, I have fantastic news!" A shimmering in the mirror, the twisting of reality, and behind her reflection, upon her bed—appeared the form of a much-loved friend.

"My Lady!"

Sarah turned happily from her seat and crossed to the bed, practically bouncing upon the patchwork quilt. "Sir Didymus! Oh, how good it is to see you!" she greeted the little fox with a hug and a kiss on his nose that left his whiskers twitching in delighted embarrassment. "Where are Ludo and Hoggle? I have something I want to tell you guys."

"Alas, fair maiden. Mine brothers in arms were called to duty by His Majesty, not but a fortnight past."

"What? Why?"

"Do not be concerned, milady. We all serve His Majesty when 'tis required of us."

"Oh. Do you know when they'll come back?"

"I do not," his fox ears drooped at the statement, the normally jovial lupine features showing an uncharacteristic sadness.

"Well then, you'll be the first one to hear my news and have the pleasure of telling them," proclaimed Sarah, trying to cheer her friend. The two friends spent the remainder of the evening gossiping as only a teenaged girl and battle-deprived soldier could.

* * *


	3. Return of the King

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

**I know—I'm a bad author for going back and altering stuff in the middle of the story. A true author would have all of that worked out before he/she posted or just be willing to work with what they had created. I really am sorry.**

Disclaimer—Nope. Don't own nuthin'. Except for the 'Dead End' sign I snatched when my school got blown over by a tornado. _That_ is mine. And it's really freaking cool, too.

* * *

Chapter Three—"Return of the King"

It was a very large and extremely well hidden red and black train. How the magical Platform 9 ¾ remained unnoticed by people, _Muggles,_ was something she wasn't quite sure of. It had seemed quite obvious that unusual things were happening when people kept walking into and through the wall, but the normal passersby never gave any indication they saw anything amiss. Sarah and her companions had sprinted nervously through the wall and nearly tripped over each other on the other side. The three of them were currently staring at the mighty Hogwarts Express, not paying much attention to their guide.

"Children! Children, please! Your compartment is this way, please stay together, I want to get you all settled with plenty of time before departure. This way." Their guide, Mr. Simons was a pleasant, if frazzled man. He was a representative of the Foreign Education Department of the Ministry of Magic and had met the three exchange students at the airport. They were all non-natives of the United Kingdom and none in fact had ever visited before. They were actually all from a Muggle family which meant they did not have the have the capabilities or connections to hop about the world through the Floo Network. Sarah was secretly glad of that; travel via fire just didn't seem kosher.

They had met up, introduced themselves, and taken a tour around Diagon Alley, spending the night at a tavern called the Leaky Cauldron. The group of three teens (Sarah, a seventh-year boy from New Zealand, and a sixth-year girl from Russia) had spent the evening introducing themselves and telling about their home countries. Sarah had thought she was too excited to sleep that night, but she did, and now she was rushing down a crowded platform full of witches and wizards on her way to a school of magic.

"Here we are. This compartment is where you can stow your luggage. Feel free to wander about and meet new people. The train will be leaving in about thirty minutes."

After her baggage was loaded, Sarah took the opportunity and stepped back from the mass of humanity. The tide of teenagers and their families moving around the station was intimidating. With a pang, she thought of her family, half a world a way. They had supported her decision and put on their happy faces for her, wanting to send her off without any worries. She had seen the concern though, and felt terrible. Her brother hadn't understood why he was waving to his sister as she got on the plane, and although they had tried to explain it, he was still too young to realize that he wouldn't be able to see her again for some time.

Her friends at school had been surprised at her sudden decision to become an exchange student. It was their junior year after all, she would be missing out on all the "oh so important and fun junior activities," or at least that's what her friend Alice had said. After much apologizing, she promised to take lots and lots of pictures, send regular e-mails (or letters) and visit during the breaks. They'd thrown Sarah a surprise seventeenth birthday bash at Kevin's house while his parents were obligingly gone for the night.

The whistle of the train broke her from her reverie and her mind sloshed back to the present. Students were climbing on board the locomotive and hugging their families goodbye. Another whistle and the stragglers ran to mount the train steps, Sarah included. She found her way back to the assigned compartment, but her companions were not in attendance. That was fine with her.

Happy to have the space to herself, and glad to be finally on the way to Hogwarts, Sarah threw herself into the seat next to the window and watched as the platform fell away and revealed the beauty of the English countryside. She couldn't wait to get to school; she wanted to put all the knowledge in her head to use. To prove to herself that she wasn't imaging this. But this world wouldn't disappear after ten hours. Or even thirteen. This world would last until she was old and wrinkled and apparently that would not be for many, many years. An elderly teacher, one of her first, had made mention that people with magic in their veins tended to live longer than non-magic folk, a good seventy to eighty years longer.

When the two other exchange students returned to the cabin Sarah was introduced to Wizarding games and the ride from King's Cross Station to the town of Hogsmeade went smoothly and quickly and it seemed that before she had time to really enjoy the trip, they had arrived.

* * *

"This year, Hogwarts has the pleasure of hosting three talented students from around the world. I hope you will help them all adjust to life here and make them feel welcome. And now, their Sorting." 

"Kirov, Anastasia. **Ravenclaw**."

"Mathis, David. **Ravenclaw**."

"Williams, Sarah." Finally. Sitting upon the stool, the battered looking hat was placed on her head.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Williams," whispered a voice in her ear. "Let's see who you are, shall we? All the knowledge is here, the _Nivano Es_ do great work. You are fiercely loyal to your friends and family and your courage has been proved beyond a doubt, oh yes. You have a tremendous amount of ambition though, a desire to succeed, and a willingness to press your advantage. Any thoughts upon the matter?" it asked.

_I don't have a preference, if that's what you're asking_, she thought back, amused at having a conversation with a hat.

"Well, I think, the best choice is **Slytherin**."

A round of cheering and whooping from the table to the far right made her flush with embarrassment and a small amount of pleasure as she stepped off the dais. A couple of girls around her own age scooted down the bench and made a space for her to sit. She smiled politely to her seatmates and answered a few curious questions about herself then gasped in wonderment as plate upon plate of delicious looking food appeared, stretched across the length of the giant table. Tucking into the meal with gusto, Sarah listened to the conversations of the students around her, reacquainting themselves after a summer spent apart.

"…my father got a promotion at the Ministry. We've been entertaining all sorts of important officials over the summer at our villa in Naples; we were invited to dine with the Minister himself, _twice_…"

"…Grandmother insists I be properly debuted to Society this autumn, but my mother disagrees and is determined for a spring debut like she had. Now the two aren't speaking. I'd much prefer an autumn debut; the colors are much more flattering to my nature…"

A very handsome looking boy with slick blonde hair was boasting about having attended the Quidditch World Cup over the summer in Australia. The group of students sitting around were badgering for details.

Quidditch. It was a game, sort of a like soccer, only played on flying brooms. She had heard of it, even had it described to her, but had never seen a game played. Sarah smiled. She couldn't wait.

* * *

Somehow, when she'd heard she be living in a castle, she hadn't imagined it would be in the dungeons. She was fine with it, however. She'd never been much on the tower thing and besides, she wanted to be able to rescue herself. 

Her roommates were annoying. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, the two other Slytherin girls her own age. They had been polite enough at dinner, mainly ignoring her after the initial introductions, but once inside the dorm room they shared, the questions had started. They wanted to know where she had grown up, what schooling she had had, what her parents did, was she related to or acquainted with anyone of social or economic esteem. It was as if her acceptance into their little group was hinged upon whether she had the right credentials.

"_Nivanos Es!_ Your family must be quite influential. Dream teachers are highly sought after, but they're very particular in their students," said Pansy in slightly admiring tone. "Will your brother use them as well?"

"I'm not sure. I think...maybe, it will depend on how much I like Hogwarts. My dad and step-mom weren't really happy with letting me come here for even one year, so I'm not sure how they would cope with my brother being gone for seven."

Millicent, a rather stocky girl with flat brown hair had a question of her own. "You said you lived with your father and step-mother, right? What about your real mother?"

"She's an actress in New York."

"New York? Isn't that a Muggle city?" Pansy's voice was sharp, almost offended. She'd discovered something that may or may not have smelt foul, she hadn't decided yet. "Your parents are witch and wizard, aren't they?"

Why would her parents being Muggle matter? A warning went off in her head though, and before she could reply with, _"No, actually, they're not—is that a problem?"_ she decided to skirt the truth. "Well, who else do you think paid for my teachers? Some generous stranger?"

"Oh! Of course!" Pansy and Millicent laughed excessively as if Sarah had said something incredibly funny. "That was a silly question, my apologies. Of course you're from an all-magic family. I hope I haven't offended you, but we can't be too careful anymore. Dirty Mudbloods popping up all over. Quite disturbing, actually."

"Quite," she agreed, not understanding the word, but disliking it nonetheless. "It's been a long day, I'm tired and I still need to unpack," she said brusquely, hoping the two girls had something else to do.

"We'll leave you alone. But do come to House orientation in an hour. You'll meet my boyfriend, Draco. He's Head Boy," said Pansy as she stood and turned toward the door, Millicent falling into step behind her.

"I'll do that," Sarah said, her mouth turning down in dislike. Normally she tried to be friendly and accepting of people, but those two, Pansy in particular just rubbed her the wrong way. "Oh, please don't let everyone in Slytherin be like those two," she beseeched the empty room.

Sighing, she opened her trunk and pulled items out; school books to go on her desk, robes and school uniforms to go in the wardrobe, new magic-enhanced toiletries she was anxious to try out, and some moving pictures of her family she'd taken with the new camera she'd bought right before she left the country—but at the Muggle items she stopped. She'd brought her Muggle clothing, her radio alarm clock (along with a sack full of batteries), non-moving pictures of her family and friends, leisure reading material, as well as a couple of her most beloved stuffed animals. Important things, all of them, but she had a feeling, a clutch in her stomach that told her to leave them where they were. Haltingly, she pulled the lid down on the trunk and stared at it. From the desk next to her bed she picked up her wand and pointed it at the trunk.A quickly muttered word sealed the box shut with the most powerful locking spell she knew and she immediately felt better at the precaution.

_Oh, wow! I..I did magic!_ The sudden thought caught her unaware and she sat heavily on her bed to keep her head from spinning. _I can do magic! _Sarah didn't know whether to laugh or cry, her emotions were leaping all over. With a shaky hand she pointed her wand at a book sitting innocently upon her desk, "_Wingardium Leviosa!" _Her new copy of _Things That Can Eat You: Flora and Fauna to Beware_ by Ima Leggles (used in joint by the 7th Year Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology classes) rose into the air and effortlessly followed the guidance of her wand. Sarah decided that laughing would be the better choice and set about doing that for the next hour using any available objects within the room to test her previously unused magical abilities.

It wasn't until much later, when she was climbing into bed, pulling the green velvet curtains around her, and trying unsuccessfully to block out the annoying chatter of the other girls, that she wondered why she had been so careful before with the trunk. _What was she trying to hide?_

_

* * *

_

She stood at the edge of a forest with a meadow stretched out for miles before her. Flowers, each more delicate and brilliant looking than the last, sprouted haphazardly across the field, creating a patchwork quilt of color, a thousand different hues and shades and tints she had never known existed.

There were no buildings around; no structures or evidence of human kind anywhere. The forest behind her did not look particularly threatening, the sun filtering drowsily through the branches of the largest trees she had ever seen. She felt completely at peace here. Taking a deep breath and lifting her face to the sky, she did the only logical thing she could have done when in such a place—Sarah threw out her arms and twirled.

Enchanted laughter escaped her mouth as she felt the wind slide around her, flowing through long hair and teasing the breath from her. Deliciously dizzy, she sank to the grass, chest heaving, to look up at the most fantastically blue sky she had ever seen.

"I do hope you know this place is not real. This is a dream; it's all in your mind."

The voice startled Sarah into sitting up and twisting around. But she knew who it was already, had heard his voice in her head a thousand times since that night. And there he was—leaning on the trunk of a giant tree looking perfectly bored. His arms were folded across his chest, one booted foot up and braced against the rough bark. He wore simple black trousers and a white shirt with lace cuffs most men wouldn't be brave enough to wear, let alone look good in. Blond hair, still wild, danced a little in the wind. Odd-colored eyes studied her with no hint of emotion. The Goblin King.

Gathering her courage and ignoring the way her heart was pounding, Sarah stood and faced him. "If this is my dream then why are you here?"

"Not by choice, I assure you." He stepped away from the tree and strolled leisurely toward her, his hands dropping from their crossed position to fall behind his back and clasp there. "Surely you've guessed that something has occurred. The happenings from two years ago have started a reaction of events that have led the both of us here. Your foolhardy wish for me to take your brother was the catalyst to this whole mess in which we now find ourselves."

"W-what do you mean? What mess?"

"Perhaps I am overreacting." He shrugged, decidedly unconcerned. A few feet in front of her he stopped and looked her up and down, his eyes trailing over her body in an efficient, impersonal way that somehow disconcerted her more than if he'd been overtly appreciative. The indifference of his features gave her the idea that he hadn't been impressed with what he saw. His strange eyes caught hers. "You defeated my Labyrinth, Sarah."

"I had to save Toby."

The king observed her with an indiscernible look, his gaze sliding away from her to focus on something more welcome. "Your brother was never in any danger."

"You wanted to turn him into a goblin! I think that's plenty dangerous!" Sarah growled, her shock turned to anger.

A smirk touched thin lips. "I never said anything about turning the child into a goblin. You made that assumption. I have enough of the annoying creatures cluttering up my castle already, why would I want another one?"

Sarah stared at him, her mouth falling open slightly. "Then what was the 'your baby brother shall become one of us forever' speech? As the king of the goblins, what else would he become?"

The smirk widened to reveal slightly pointed teeth and an elegant eyebrow arched in mild amusement. His odd eyes found hers. "Honestly, Sarah. I thought you smarter than that. Do I look like a goblin?" Not waiting for a reply he strolled past, his sleeve brushing against her. "Your brother has become one of us; as have you."

"_What?"_

The king seemed disinclined to answer, his eyes roving over the picturesque terrain. "I do hope you're one for academics, Sarah," he called over his shoulder. "Those Dream teachers of yours may have taken care of you until now, but as of tonight, you are on your own. I hear seventh year at Hogwarts can be quite intimidating. I will be watching you of course; to make sure everything goes smoothly. You have chosen Slytherin House. I suggest you not reveal your Muggle heritage to your charming housemates—you might not wake up one morning."

"Wait, wait! This doesn't make sense. Are you a wizard? Is that what you meant?"

A sound of amusement and the king spared her a look over his shoulder at her. "Hardly," he responded, not bothering to stop walking.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"You do not need to, Sarah. Attend classes. Learn magic."

"What are you doing here, Goblin King?" she called to the now distant figure.

"I seek answers," came the reply, floating past her ears. The king was a lone figure ambling among the flowers, the black and white of his clothes seemingly swallowed by the color all around him. Then he was gone, no flashes of light or swirl of cloak to precede his leaving. He was simply no longer there.

"But what are the questions?" she wondered aloud.

She received no reply.

* * *


	4. Forward On

Author's Note—

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

Disclaimer—

Nope. I'm poor. I think I might have a quarter somewhere. Maybe a dime. But that's about all you would get out of me.

* * *

Chapter Four—Dawn of a New Day 

Pumpkin juice._ Why would someone drink pumpkin juice?_ Sarah pondered that concept as she stared into the questionable depths of a pitcher containing the aforementioned liquid. "When in Rome…" went the old saying, but somehow, Sarah just wasn't ready to take such a leap into a new culture. A glass of orange juice went perfectly fine with her breakfast.

There were only a handful of students in the Great Hall. It was the first day of classes and even if Sarah hadn't been so excited, sleeping later would not have been an option, due in large part to the gigantic clock and bell tower on the school grounds and the sudden lighting of the wall sconces and fireplace at exactly 7 a.m. In a place without alarm clocks, it was a good enough substitute.

Most students were still stumbling around, bleary eyed and reluctant of the new day when Sarah was done dressing and almost pacing in excitement. She'd avoided the crowd in the girls' showers (enjoying being able to dry her hair and smooth it down in a flat minute thanks to a nifty hair-care product line called Lady Godiva's Hair Treatment for Every Possible Occasion Including Day-To-Day and Formals) and headed up to the Great Hall before anyone else. She'd only gotten lost twice; both times a kindly portrait had suggested the proper corridor to take.

_"Nivanos Es_. That's quite an honor—the Dream teachers are getting notoriously selective with the students they choose to tutor."

Sarah looked up in surprise to see Draco Malfoy before her, arms folded imperiously across his chest. She'd been briefly introduced to him last night as well as to Professor Snape, the unpleasant head of her House. The professor had snapped out the rules in a voice that was both sinister and compelling and handed out their class schedules for the year, turned abruptly around and strode out the entrance of the room, the robes he wore flaring up behind him.

Draco Malfoy had drug a first year boy out of his seat, sat down, kicked his feet onto an ottoman and proceeded to tell the room that since he was Head Boy, he wouldn't be staying in Slytherin Dungeons with them, but in his own room with his own private bath and a house elf assigned only to his needs. Sarah had watched him in something close to disgust for about two minutes before she tuned out his bragging and went back to her room.

"Why is everyone so preoccupied with my former teachers?" she asked, focusing her attention back on her food.

Pale, ice-eyes looked her over, "Because they only take students from a wizard family with pure blood."

"Yes. So?"

"Pure-blood witches and wizards are becoming a rarity. The Great families are dying out as people marry Muggles or half-bloods and the lines get contaminated."

Sarah looked up at him with a slight scowl. "I take it you're a pure-blood, then?"

He laughed. "Of course I am."

"So, you feel you're superior to someone with a Muggle parent?"

"I _know_ I am. Don't you?"

"I don't believe a person's merit should depend on the family bloodlines," Sarah replied, in what she hoped was an end to the conversation.

"You're a Mudblood sympathizer?" he asked, the smirk on his face turning into a look of revulsion. The cool, gray eyes gave her a quick once-over, reassessing that first, misleading glance. He dropped his arms to the table and leaned across, his shadow a disturbing darkness reaching out for her. "How'd you get in Slytherin? Your kind isn't welcome in my House."

She set her fork down next to the knife on her plate and stared Draco in the eyes. "Are you threatening me? Aren't you supposed to be some sort of student role model?"

"I am—and I promise I will make the other Slytherins follow my lead." He drew back from her, his arm slyly sweeping out and knocking over the glass of orange juice, the liquid running across the wooden table and spilling into her lap. Sarah jumped up with a cry and grabbed for napkins to pat her robe and skirt. "Clumsy me," Draco said and walked down to the other end of the table where a few Slytherins sat laughing and staring in her direction. Sarah looked to the faculty table and saw only a tiny man in a pointy hat almost hidden behind a newspaper.

_That petty little bastard,_ she fumed, her face darkening in anger as she mopped at her clothes with a linen napkin while her plate and silverware disappeared from the table, the sticky trail of liquid wiped away by invisible hands. If Draco Malfoy had thought to make her cry with his little threats and bullying, he was dead wrong. She was currently doing her best not to rush after him and punch him right on his pure-blood nose.

Gathering her book bag she left the Great Hall, ignoring the snickering coming from the growing crowd of Slytherins as more students trickled in to breakfast, and headed back down to the dungeons for a change of clothes. _What a great beginning to my first day._ The rumble of thunder and flash of distant lightning through the windows seemed to agree with her.

* * *

"Miss Williams! Do you know the answer or not?" 

"The petals of a Macabre Bloom, a rare plant which flowers only on nights of the New Moon and only during the winter months, must be ground with a silver pestle and added to the brew only after the cooking flame has turned blue. If you add it before the flame changes, the potion is ruined and the cauldron tends to melt."

"Correct. Five points for Slytherin," Professor Snape said, his lips twitching.

It was her first Advanced Potions lesson and Sarah had already learned a very important lesson: Professor Snape expected you to _pay attention and learn_. It was a small group, only seven students, most of them Ravenclaws, and if you could not answer a question correctly, you were treated to a copious tongue-lashing and loss of House points. She was thankful her tutors had been so thorough; she wasn't behind as she feared she might have been. If anything, she seemed a little ahead of the group. She'd covered protective potions against zombies and other night-walking, flesh-eating creatures nearly three weeks ago.

She had been taking notes, quietly rejoicing that she had chosen calligraphy as a high school art credit, when a shadow had loomed over her. An inscrutable look had been in the professor's eyes as he assessed his new Slytherin. He'd asked her a question and she had replied, the answer popping out of her mouth before she really had a chance to think.

Twenty minutes later, Slytherin was up twenty-five points. Sarah had stopped volunteering and chose to sit as quietly as possible hoping to dissuade the professor from calling her name. Her plan hadn't worked very well.

When the bell rang she gladly gathered up her supplies and slipped out the door. Trudging up the stairs and out of the dungeons, Sarah plodded to a padded window seat, sat wearily down and tipped her head onto the cool glass. _Good Lord. Someone kill me now! I don't think I'll be able to survive any more classes like that. _The thunderstorm from before had settled down into a subdued rain, the patter of drops against the window a calming noise.

"Sarah?"

Cracking her eyes open, Sarah saw a girl with a mass of brown hair and a tentative smile. She was the one who raised her hand in class when no one else would, but whom Professor Snape refused to call.

"My name is Hermione Granger, I'm Head Girl. I haven't had a chance to welcome you to Hogwarts yet. Have you enjoyed your time here so far?"

"Yes, thank you. You certainly seem nothing like your counter-part," Sarah said with a grin as the two girls shook hands.

"You mean Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her slight smile disappearing. "You don't care for him?"

"I'm sorry if he's your friend, but I've known him for less than twenty-four hours and he did not make a good first impression on me."

Draco came strolling down the hall then, Pansy on his arm and two slabs of human meat called Goyle and Crabbe trailing right behind them. All four of them glared at the sight of the girls talking but passed by them without incident or comment—perhaps it was due to the number of students making their own way to and from classes. Or it could have been because of the two professors having a chat outside a classroom door. Two other boys, a redhead and one with black hair and glasses, were walking slowly after the group of Slytherins but stopped a short distance from Sarah and Hermione. As she didn't know either of them, she assumed they were waiting for the other girl.

"No, Malfoy and I aren't on friendly terms, either. What on earth could you have done to make them dislike you so quickly?" Hermione asked as she watched the four Slytherins round a corner at the end of the hall.

"Oh, Draco asked me something this morning and I told him my opinion," Sarah shrugged. "He didn't agree with me."

"And he's turned his group of Slytherins against you?"

"Apparently."

Hermione looked at her with concerned eyes. "You're not upset about that? The Slytherins will follow his example. You might end up being ostracized by all of them for the rest of the school year."

"Yeah, I figured that out after breakfast this morning when none of the older Slytherins would give me directions to the classroom. Word traveled quickly. I don't think Draco's gotten to the first-years yet, I give them about half a week to fall into step."

She stood up from the seat and hefted her bag back onto her shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to be able to show me the way to Headmaster Dumbledore's office, would you? I'm supposed to have a meeting with him in ten minutes. I believe my assigned tour guide was Draco but I really just don't trust him right now and I'd rather not resort to running up and down the halls looking in every door to see what's where."

"You'll get the hang of Hogwarts soon enough. That or wander into someplace you shouldn't and go missing for a couple weeks," said the tall redhead as the two boys finally joined them. "I'm Ron."

"I'm Harry," greeted the kid with the glasses and the flop of dark hair over his forehead. Both boys had cautious, undecided looks on their faces. They exchanged a three-way glance with Hermione and Sarah pretended not to notice.

"I'm Sarah; it's nice to meet you. Were you joking?"

"No," answered Ron with a shrug. "Of course, I'm pretty sure my brothers meant to get themselves lost. Mum wasn't too happy with them. They spent the entire summer after their second year catching up with all the schoolwork they missed."

"Didn't they end up on a fishing barge over by the States somewhere?" asked Harry.

"Bermuda Triangle, actually. I have no idea how they got there, and they won't tell."

Sarah shook her head bemusedly and muttered, "Definitely not in Kansas anymore."

Hermione looked startled by that comment but didn't say anything. Instead she readjusted her bag and motioned for the group to join the throng of bodies and move down the hall. The press of students shuffling from class to class was a soothing reminder to Sarah that no matter how far away from home she was and however strange matters seemed, some things were universal.

"I'll take you by Professor Dumbledore's office, Sarah. It's on my way to Advanced Ancient Runes."

"Advanced Ancient Runes, Advanced Potions," Ron ticked class off his fingers, "Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures—Hermione, when are you going to have any time to relax?"

The Head Girl turned to her friend with a scandalized look, "Ronald Weasley! You can't be serious! This is our seventh year; we have N.E.W.T.s to prepare for. Relaxation is not an option."

"It's because we have N.E.W.T.s that we need to loosen up, or otherwise we'll all be raving mad by the end of tomorrow. Harry and I just came from Divination with Professor Trelawney and as much as I might prefer the crazy loon to Firenze, I'm already thinking about bashing my head against a wall."

"Well, what do you expect with Divination? I've told you again and again that it's rubbish."

"Watch out," spoke Harry from her left, pointing up a flight of stairs. "That one right there, the fifth from the top, it's a trick step and you can fall through it."

"Thanks for the warning," she said, taking an extra large stride over the harmless looking step. "So, I guess you guys are all in Gryffindor?"

"Yeah."

"Are you all from wizard families?"

He looked at her, startled. His eyebrows lowered, suspicious, but he answered anyway. "No. Ron's the only one with a wizard family. Hermione and I grew up in Muggle homes."

"That's neat. My parents…" she trailed off. The low murmur of voices drew Sarah's attention and she looked around at her surroundings. "Why is everyone staring at us?" For indeed they were. The four of them, three Gryffindors and one Slytherin were garnering attention, other students stopping to point and whisper.

"Gryffindors and Slytherins generally don't get along well," explained Hermione as she dropped her argument with Ron. "The two Houses have a long history of dislike."

"So, us walking together is enough to cause people to stare?" Sarah asked in astonishment. They were currently on a moving staircase in a room full of living portraits. Students and even the people in the paintings were watching the quartet curiously, astonished to see silver and green amidst the gold and red. "Is it really that elitist here?"

"No, not at all!" cried Hermione. "It's just…how it is."

"That's sad."

"You've met the other Slytherins! They're all so preoccupied with bloodlines and power that they don't have time to develop personalities—or ethics."

"Ron, that's unkind," Hermione admonished with a glare.

"It's true. You-Know-Who's main supporters are Slytherins," Ron stated, as if that explanation should have been enough.

The stair had stopped its movement and Sarah pushed her way through the knot of people standing at the top of the landing and continued blindly down a hall, not knowing if she was headed in the right direction. Her three-person escort hurried to catch up.

"You cannot tell me that absolutely every single person with evil intentions winds up in Slytherin," said Sarah, a frown marring her face. "Here. At this school. Maybe a large number of Slytherins did join with Voldemort, but what about the ones who _didn't?_ And the witches and wizards who never attended Hogwarts? The ones who were before his time? His non-wizard allies?"

"Whoa! Okay, sorry!" cried Ron, hands thrown up in the universal position of surrender.

Sarah sighed and slowed to a walk. "I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just…since I'm in Slytherin, I really don't want to be thought of as 'evil' by the majority of the student population."

"You said Voldemort," spoke Harry as the group stopped in front of a stone gargoyle. "You're not afraid to say his name?"

"No. My teachers didn't believe in it, and neither do I. I mean, if we're not saying his name because we fear that he or his followers will hear us talking about him, saying 'You-Know-Who' isn't any different. People still know who you're referring to." Sarah looked at Harry as she spoke and something suddenly clicked in her mind. "Are you Harry _Potter_?"

"Uh, yes." Harry exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione.

"Huh. Somehow I thought you'd be bigger." That comment startled Harry into laughter and brought a grin to his friends' faces.

Sarah smiled at him and turned to Hermione. "Well, thank you for showing me the way up here. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome. I'd be glad to help any time you need it." Turning to the statue, "Pixy Sticks," and the giant gargoyle rose from the floor revealing a spiraling staircase. "I'll see you later."

The Head Girl continued on down the hall while Ron and Harry said token goodbyes and yelled to Hermione that they would meet her for lunch. The two boys actually turned around and hurried back the way they had come, leaving Sarah disheartened.

No polite requests for the new girl to join them at lunch or meet their friends at the designated hang out. Perhaps it was too early for them to consider her a friend or even an acquaintance, but Sarah didn't think so. The idea to do so hadn't even occurred to them—any of them. She was still just a Slytherin.

* * *


	5. Class Act

Author's Note —

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

Someone asked me before when this story was taking place. In the Labyrinth timeline or in HP's. The answer is neither. It is happening right now as we speak. Whether you read this story in 2003, 2005, or whenever the heck I manage to get it finished, the time is "now."

Disclaimer —

I don't own the Labyrinth. If I did there would have been a different ending. Or at least a sequel. I don't own Harry Potter either, though I really think I should.

Oh wait! I do own Labyrinth! Ha. I just bought it off of eBay and it's a little worn around the edges, but still good! Whoo! I own Labyrinth! I own Labyrinth!

The book that is. Not the idea. sigh

* * *

Chapter Five—Class Act

Professor Dumbledore had a very interesting office. Bright and airy with lots of moving paintings of old people (former headmasters and mistresses, she read on little brass plaques) and there were odd-looking _things_ scattered all over. He also had a phoenix. It was currently sleeping, head tucked beneath a wing, but Sarah found it fascinating and wanted to see it awake. However, startling a phoenix from sleep might not be a wise idea—they _were_ known for spontaneously combusting.

A noise drew Sarah's attention up the small curving stairwell to see Professor Dumbledore, clad in eye-watering lime green robes, come through an arched doorway, a large book in his hand.

"Good morning, Miss Williams. How are you today?" he asked descending the steps to stop before her and shake her hand. He had a good grip for such an elderly man. He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk, "Please, sit."

"I'm very well, sir, thank you," she replied dropping her bag and settling into her seat.

The professor sat in his chair, placing the book off to the side. He pushed a glass bowl full of candy across the table toward her. "Lemon drop?" he inquired.

"Um, no, thanks."

"Well now, Miss Williams, Sarah, how are you settling in? Is it everything you were expecting?"

She smiled. "It's been an experience, sir. I'm very glad to be here. I love the fact that this is an actual castle and I can't wait to explore the grounds."

"Good, good," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "Yes, Hogwarts is blessed with exquisite surroundings. I quite enjoy taking leisurely strolls myself. There's a lovely blackberry patch south of the Quidditch pitch, if you're so inclined to wander that far and the moors are truly a sight to see at this time of year. Do remember not to leave the grounds, the boundaries are clearly marked and I would warn you again not to enter the forest on the northern side; it is forbidden with purpose."

"Of course, sir," she agreed. He smiled at her.

"Have you had your first class yet? With Professor Snape, I believe?"

"Yes, I had Advanced Potions this morning with Professor Snape. It was a good; I know I'll learn much from him."

"Wonderful! The _Nivanos Es_ have a reputation for turning out the brightest pupils. I'm glad to be able to count you among Hogwarts' students," he smiled benignly at her, studying her with twinkling eyes through half-moon glasses, thumbs twiddling on the desktop and she couldn't help picturing him as sort of an ever-ready grandfather. "Have you spoken with the Goblin King recently?"

The grandfather image vanished.

She blinked at him and felt her mouth fall open slightly. She shut it.

"You _know_ him?" she almost squeaked.

"Oh, yes. Jareth and I are old acquaintances."

"I, uh, didn't think the Wizarding world and the Underground were aware of each other. My teachers never mentioned the Underground or anything about a Goblin King when I was studying wizard history."

"And your Muggle history says nothing about either world. We like to keep it so, for various reasons." The professor paused and took a candy from the bowl. He offered it to her, but when she shook her head again he popped it into his mouth. "Jareth informed me of your situation over a cup of tea nearly two years ago. I've been eager to meet you."

She looked at him curiously. "What situation? He said the same thing last night, but never got around to explaining."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes lighting up, "you have spoken with him."

She sighed and tried not to fidget. "Well, sort of. It was a dream, actually. Instead of my nightly tutorials he showed up. I hadn't seen him in two years."

"Since the night you solved the Labyrinth, yes? Quite a remarkable feat if you'll allow me to say so."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What situation?"

"It's nothing to worry about, my dear. He was merely annoyed that someone was able to successfully traverse his maze. It doesn't happen often."

"But, it has happened before?"

"A handful of times during the years I've known him."

"Does he come to you whenever he loses?"

"Lose? No, Sarah," he replied, shaking his head. "It is not Jareth who loses; he is not competing against those who make their wish. No, in this ordeal it is only those running the Labyrinth who win or lose."

Sarah glanced to where the phoenix snoozed on its perch. "Then, if he has nothing at stake and he has no reason to care whether a person wins or loses…why would he come to you, angry that I won?"

He studied her over the rim of his glasses and she could have sworn he looked ten years older, and much more serious.

"I would not have chosen the word 'angry.' Troubled, I think, would be more accurate. As to why—that is something you should ask him."

"He said he would be watching me." It wasn't phrased as a question, but he answered as if it had been.

"Again, that is something to ask Jareth."

A sudden thought occurred to her and she frowned. "Are you expecting him to hang around the castle and follow me to class?"

Dumbledore smiled again, the twinkle back in his blue eyes, and the room seemed to grow brighter. "I doubt it. He has much stealthier means of observation and if he were to appear in person, I believe he would do so at a time when you may speak privately."

"I don't feel comfortable with this," Sarah grimaced. "I don't really want him spying on me; it's kind of…creepy."

"You may rest easy on that account. There are numerous spells and wards about the castle to help ensure the privacy of our residents from magically prying eyes. And Jareth, though you might not believe it, has certain 'rules' by which _he_ must abide. Do not worry, Sarah—he means you no harm and bears you no ill will; of that you have my word."

"You trust him?"

"With the safety of all my students—I can bestow no greater confidence than that."

"Thank you, Professor. I…that does make me feel better."

"Good. Now, I believe you have a Current Magical Events class to attend, yes? I hope you'll enjoy it. Professor Llewellyn is an excellent instructor."

"I'm sure I will." She stood up and shook hands with him again before turning to go. Outside Dumbledore's office, in the little antechamber, she found David Mathis, one of her fellow exchange students, waiting in a high-backed chair. He looked startled when he saw her walk through the door.

"Hi, David," she greeted him with a smile. "You have a meeting with Professor Dumbledore, too?"

"Yeah," he agreed, his eyes flitting to hers and away. He shuffled with some books in his bag.

"How's your first day been? Which House are you in again?" she asked, not understanding why he was so nervous. She hiked her satchel higher onto her shoulder.

"It's been okay. I'm in Ravenclaw," he mumbled after a moment. He stood up and sort of _sidled_ past her even though there was more than enough space in the room. "I, uh, gotta go." He turned the knob to the office door and was gone before she could say goodbye.

Through some windows, she could see the rain had stopped and the sun was valiantly trying to fight its way out from behind the clouds. She looked at her faded reflection in the glass and saw a girl with long hair wearing a black school robe trimmed in green and silver. She wondered if that was what David had seen as well.

* * *

Her Current Magical Events class was better than she thought it would be. She was one of four Slytherins in a room full of twenty-two students. Two of the Slytherins were fifth-years she had yet to meet and who managed polite nods (an acknowledgment of her House status) before dismissing her. The other one, Esmerelda DeVilbiss, was a sixth-year with dark hair who gave Sarah the cold shoulder throughout the entire class. Sarah learned that the classification of **"**beast**"** was currently up for review by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

When it was time for lunch and food appeared on the long tables in the Great Hall, Sarah considered briefly sitting at the table with the other Slytherins. The idea didn't appeal to her. Instead she made herself a plate of food and took it outside to a little stone courtyard she'd found earlier. The rain had ceased nearly two hours ago and the sun was peeking out from behind silver clouds, quickly drying the terrace. She'd had a nice lunch, enjoyed the view of the lake, and flipped through a textbook.

Care of Magical Creatures was by far the most stressful class she'd had all day—mostly because she had it with both the seventh-year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Malfoy and his crew were disdainful of anything the extraordinarily large Professor Hagrid had to say and spent most of their time making snide remarks about him, his ineptitude at teaching, Sarah, or the Gryffindors in general though Harry Potter and his friends especially.

Hermione and the boys had offered her perfunctory smiles before the class started but seemed to forget about her as they chatted within the circle of their fellow Gryffindors. Sarah did not feel brave enough to try and join their group. Or maybe she just wasn't desperate yet. She found herself on the outside of all of them, physically standing apart from the two groups.

The class was cancelled early because the sun had gone back behind the clouds and rain was starting to fall in a soft mist. Professor Hagrid had no problem with getting wet but the creature he was showing the class (something with lots of long fur that looked like it tangled easily) didn't deal well with water. The students all began to trudge back up the steep hill to the castle, grumbling about the weather but happy to leave so quickly.

She saw Professor Hagrid invite Ron, Harry, and Hermione into his house. Sarah turned to the school and followed after the others. A shadow moved against the ground and she glanced up in time to see an owl wing its way hurriedly to the castle. It was dark brown and large. She supposed it mustn't be happy to be out in the rain. Sarah questioned idly, as she climbed the crumbling stone steps, if it always rained so much in Scotland. The green, green grass made the answer obvious.

Her last class of the day, an art class, was by far the best course she had ever taken. It wasn't just the watercolor and papermaking and ceramics she had learned in her regular high school—this was portrait painting to make the essence of the model animate their image with the right magically enhanced paints, photography and how to mix the potion to develop the film that would capture living people in a perfect moment; it was how to bring _life_ to her artwork.

She could weave a tapestry and animate the picture with the trees changing color every season, the sun rising and setting throwing shadows all around. She could draw people in graphite, pastels, ink—any type of medium—and give her creations a personality. She delighted in hearing the professor speak of the class curriculum and what projects they would do over the year.

Sarah was seated next to a red-headed Gryffindor, a sixth-year, and succeeded in coaxing a nice chat from the girl about her past artistic endeavors. Ginny liked to work with clay, building her creations from the bottom up; she'd taken the class before but was allowed to take it again for special credit. Sarah and the girl had parted on affable terms.

During dinner, she sat apart from the other Slytherins, at the near opposite end of the table. But she wasn't alone. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were keeping her company in a most delightful way. It was a magical book she'd been given as a good luck present from Mrs. Harowell back home. The words scrolled across the pages and ink-drawn illustrations of the characters acted out the scenes when she paused in the reading.

An arm reached over her shoulder and a hand pulled the book rudely from her grip which caused the tiny caricatures to give soundless cries of fright and run off the page.

"I see you're all alone down here. No one to talk to and only a book for a friend. How pathetic."

"Draco," she sighed and turned on the bench to face him. "Will this become 'our thing'? You coming and talking to me during meals? People might start to think you actually like me. May I have my book back?"

His lip curled up in a sneer as he flipped through the novel. "Isn't this by a Muggle author?"

"Yes. But, as you can see, this is a magical book—or weren't the moving pictures enough of a clue? And what's a pure-blood wizard like you doing knowing about Jane Austen? Aren't you afraid her Muggle cooties will rub off on you or something?"

He eyed her and closed the book. "You certainly have a smart mouth on you, Williams. It's unbecoming in a girl, especially one with pure-blood, as I must assume you are since you're in Slytherin."

She stood and faced him, hands on her hips and glared. "Oh, _Malfoy_, I can be a whole shit-load more vulgar than this."

His lips twitched but his disdain remained. "Smile when you say that."

She smiled, showing teeth bright and false, but refrained from batting her eyelashes. "You told me earlier that _Nivanos Es_ only take students from the wealthiest, pure-blood families. Well, I was given all my formal education by them so by _your_ standards, I'm legit and I'd appreciate it if you'd get off my back and leave me the hell alone."

He seemed unfazed by her speech but was silent as he studied her. His sneer had diminished to leave him with something akin to suspicion. Sarah saw many faces in the Great Hall turned in their direction. Most of the Slytherins and a good portion of the Gryffindors. There were several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws watching though no students were close enough to hear what was being said. Professor Snape at the Head Table was paying attention to them, although it didn't seem like he was gathering himself to break up a fight; more like he wanted to know who would win or lose this confrontation.

Perhaps it was unusual for two Slytherins to 'face off' against each other and that was why everyone was watching. Maybe they kept up a public facade for the other Houses and kept all House squabbles a private battle. In any case, she and Draco were garnering a lot of attention though neither was yelling and it hadn't come to blows.

"Why are you in my House?"

She sighed and crossed her arms. "Because I have ambitions and goals for my life. Isn't that what Slytherins pride themselves on?"

"In part." His voice was noncommittal.

He stared at her with his pale eyes and Sarah allowed herself a moment to enjoy looking at them, if not the whole of the person to whom they belonged. Draco Malfoy was attractive, no doubt about it (a fact of which he was well aware), but she wasn't going to let his physical features sway her in the least. Good looks just didn't count for that much in her book. Especially when the person was a complete ass.

In the end, his lip pulled back up into a sneer and the blond brows drew together in disgust. "You're more pathetic than I suspected, Williams." He didn't hand her back the book—but he didn't throw it on the table, either. It was placed face down on the wood, undamaged in any way. It was more than she'd expected from him.

He strode back to his friends and their laughter.

She finished her meal and returned to the dungeons.

* * *

That night, she dreamed again. She found herself in the middle of a dense forest surrounded by trees taller than any buildings she had ever seen; a canopy of green turning gold. And orange. And red, yellow, purple—all the different colors of autumn—and even a few colors that weren't. The trees were tall and straight, not twisted and overgrown with creeping vines as she had seen before. Everything shimmered with an elusive glow; the plants, the undergrowth, the ground even—looking like they had been dusted with specks of light. She halfheartedly glanced around for the red creatures with the penchant of detaching body parts and was relieved when she didn't see anything and heard only the trilling of songbirds.

A short way to her right was a large clearing amid the foliage where the rough and tangled forest floor gave way to a sudden carpet of lush grass. A giant tree, leaves turning a brilliant yellow, bark smooth and hinting of a silver sheen, stood in the middle of the clearing. Attached to it was a swing; a wooden slat held up by two ropes hanging from one of the lower branches.

Running a hand across the seat, she glanced around for the Goblin King, for something. There was nothing around but a couple of stone benches scattered benignly against trees circling the edge of the open area. With a small smile, Sarah hopped onto the swing. Pumping her legs back and forth she made her way high into the air, delighting in the sensation. She hadn't been on a swing in ages. Her face tilted up to the patch of clear sky above and let her arms dangle free as she slowed to a stop.

The Goblin King was sitting on a bench across the grass watching her. He was slouched forward, arms draped across his knees, gloved hands hanging loosely between his legs. Black boots, black pants, blood-red shirt made all the more crimson by a pale face surrounded by fey-wild hair. He stared at her with hooded eyes; indolent and dangerous. There was a peculiar little grin playing about his lips, like he knew a secret she didn't—and was waiting to taunt her with that fact.

"Again?" she asked, not really surprised.

"So it would seem."

"Why?"

He smiled with pointed teeth.

"Is this place real? Or is it like last time?"

"This is your dream, Sarah. It's as real as you want it to be."

"That's not what you said before."

"You've changed your mind since then—fickle girl."

She looked at him, wondering at the comment, her hands twisting nervously round on the ropes. Somehow, he wasn't affecting her the same way he had before. Last time she had been afraid of _why_ he had returned—for her brother, for herself, for some nefarious reason only he knew. She understood now that wasn't the case, but for him to show up again after such a long absence (and when she hadn't called him) had been rather shocking. He still made her edgy but she no longer feared his motives—whatever they might be.

"Will this become a nightly routine?" she asked. "Instead of my teachers, I get you? Doesn't seem like an even trade."

"I paid for your teachers, you ungrateful brat."

"That's what I thought. How are you connected with the Wizarding world?"

"I am a King, Sarah."

"So you've said, _Jareth_," she retorted. She pushed off the grass with her feet, throwing her weight behind her. She leaned back in the swing, legs extended, hair cascading down to nearly sweep the ground.

"Contrary to what you might believe—my kingdom is not isolated from the rest of the world."

"But you're not a part of it, either."

"Not in the typical sense."

"How do you get there, then? Besides through mirrors and windows."

"Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning." He said that with another smile, rising from his slouch to lean against the smooth-barked tree behind him.

"That's the way to Neverland not the Underground."

"It's still a place for dreams." Sarah continued swinging and tried to ignore the way he watched her.

"By the way, your goblins are nothing like the ones at Gringotts Bank."

"Whose fault is that, I wonder?"

"How should I know?" she snapped, frowning. "A witch I met guessed your goblins might be half-breeds or something. They didn't look or_ act_ anything like Grabblemok, one of my teachers."

"Tell me about Draco Malfoy," he said changing the subject and causing Sarah to slow the swing.

"Why would you want to know about him? How _do _you know about him?" she asked, firing off the questions as they came to her. She pushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and accused, "You were spying on me."

"I told you I would."

"But why?"

"You're avoiding my question."

She grinned at him, "Technically, it wasn't one."

He declined to respond, turning his head to study the woods, apparently having all the time in the world and willing to wait her out. Through some trick of happenstance (though more likely by his own design) he sat in a patch of sunlight which filtered through the leaves above him and framed his features, casting the sharp angles of his face into relief.

Sarah found the view rather attractive.

"All right, then. Draco Malfoy. He's a Slytherin and Head Boy. He seems very full of himself and he likes to harass people."

"He upset you?" His arms were crossed and he idly tapped gloved fingers against his sleeve. He still wasn't looking in her direction.

"Yeah. Kinda ruined my day."

"Slytherins tend to do that, so I'm told."

"_I'm_ in Slytherin," she reminded him.

Another one of those annoying half-smiles found its way across his thin lips and Sarah had to tell herself that smacking the Goblin King would accomplish nothing.

"Now, you can answer my questions. How do you know Professor Dumbledore and what do you want with me?"

"Dumbledore has long been involved in the politics concerning wizard relations with non-human creatures. There are no human subjects in my kingdom." He looked at her then, out of the corner of his eye and paused before he spoke. "As to the second query—a situation has arisen and must be closely monitored. That is all I will say on the subject and you would do well to put it from your mind."

She studied him with jaundiced eyes. "I haven't seen you in two years. You pay for my education in magic and say you'll do the same for my brother. You show up in my dreams and ask me about the boy who upset me. I'm not stupid, Jareth; whatever this is about, I'm right in the middle of it."

He turned to stare at her fully and his face was devoid of emotion, even the frustrating smirk was gone. Then he closed his eyes and sighed—an expulsion of air from the lungs and the rounding of shoulders. He looked tired.

"There is no cause for you to worry."

"…yet?" she whispered, acutely aware of the roughness of the ropes beneath her palms and the way the wind blew her hair across her face. The trees around her seemed more ominous than friendly and the sky above gave the impression of night even though the sun still shone and the clouds were only thin, white wisps.

But he was gone and the dream was done.

* * *


	6. School Daze

Author's Note —

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

I've decided to use the book version of classes in which most of the time the Houses are separated for lessons except for Gryffindor/Slytherins for Potions and Care of Magical Creatures and Gryffindor/Hufflepuff for Herbology. Those are the classes I know so that means I get to make up the schedules for others. I'd also like to reiterate that I didn't understand the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. system prior to the release of HBP, so one more reason why I'm ignoring that book.

Disclaimer — Nope. Don't own it. Never have, never will—and I cry every night because of that fact.

* * *

Chapter Six—School Daze

It was nice outside and everyone was taking advantage of the warm weather and sunny sky. Sarah was eating lunch under the shade of a beech tree, its leaves just beginning to bleed red. Thanks to a handy charm against stains, she had no qualms about plopping down on the green grass and stretching out. All around her, others were enjoying outside lunches as well, eating in groups and playing in the sunshine. Reading one of her favorite books, Sarah was doing her best to tune out the sound of voices.

"Actually, I'm only surprised it's coming up now."

"Well, you can't really blame them, can you? The relations have been terrible since before the minister before Fudge…"

"That would have been Minister Mickelson, Ron."

"Not that that matters, Hermione. I'm just saying the relations have never been strong and the past few ministers haven't been doing anything to make it better. And it's not just here in Western Europe, Dad says this is world-wide. They're all getting really upset over how they're still being treated as lesser citizens."

Admitting that she was eavesdropping on the conversation and realizing that she knew the voices, Sarah shut her book and peered around her tree. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were located a short distance away, lunch and a newspaper spread before them, a giant elm shielding them from the sun.

"Do you think it'll come to another walk-out?" asked Harry who was lying on the ground, hands underneath his head, looking at the sky. "The last one was really bad."

"Bit of an understatement, Harry. The only way our economy stayed intact was because we spilled it over into Muggle society and destroyed theirs; which, by the way, was a ghastly thing for wizards to do. Europe and North America were a mess for years. But, you're right; a walk-out is one of the Ministry's concerns, as it always has been. Just one of the problems with having someone else in control of the money."

"Yeah," agreed Ron with a snort as he bit into an apple, wiping the juice from his chin with the sleeve of his robe. Hermione pursed her lips but didn't comment. "If they get annoyed they either riot in the streets destroying stuff or just up and leave with the gold and no one has a clue where they go and the whole world is a mess until they all finally come back."

"What?" asked Harry rising up on his elbows, "Do you mean _every_ goblin in the world?"

"Yes. Each time they do it, they all vanish," confirmed Hermione. "They lock and spell shut their homes, the goblin schools and businesses are empty and all Gringotts are closed down. No one knows where they go."

"Even if the problem is here, though? They all leave?"

"Yup," Ron nodded. "They might have their own problems among themselves, but when it comes to wizard against goblin, they stick together against _us_."

Deciding she was curious enough to join the conversation, Sarah stood, brushing off grass stems and flecks of dirt from her clothing. She gathered her book and bag, walking around her tree she came upon the three students and flashed her best smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I was accidentally eavesdropping over there and would you mind if joined you?"

The boys shrugged leaving Hermione to answer for them, "Not at all, have a seat."

"Thanks," said Sarah, dropping her bag and mentally reminding herself not to sit cross-legged, something that just shouldn't be done while wearing a skirt. "Oh, I met your sister yesterday, Ron. We have an art class together; she's really talented."

Ron didn't seem surprised. "Yeah, Ginny's always been good at that kind of stuff."

"So," said Sarah once she had her skirt smoothed down, "what is this about a goblin walk-out?"

"Do you get the paper?" asked Hermione, pushing the newspaper on the ground toward Sarah when the girl shook her head. "The Daily Prophet has been following a story about how Minister Fudge and the goblin community have been at odds for the past few years; even more so now with Voldemort alive. The spokesgoblin in the Ministry released a statement about unfair treatment and prejudices under Fudge's term and how if things don't start changing soon and if the Minister doesn't deal with them, the goblins will walk and leave Fudge to deal with the repercussions."

Sarah picked up the paper and gave it a cursory once-over. She set it back down and sighed. "Well," she said, "they certainly sound angry, but I think they have reason. They're not classified as beasts but we do take them for granted a lot of the time." She stared at the article, noting vaguely the differences in writing style and page layout compared to the newspapers she was used to. "Why _are_ goblins in charge of the money we use?" she mused, not really expecting an answer. "Why don't wizards run their own banks?"

"Because it's goblin gold," replied Hermione matter-of-factly. "They were miners long, long ago when they still lived underground. They dug up precious metals and jewels and when they realized that humans had an interest in such things they started bartering with wizards. 379 BC, I think was the year the first true lending organization was created which then eventually became Gringotts Bank. The goblins had a fantastic communication network and whenever a new wizard community grew large enough, no matter where it was, a Gringotts was built. Technically, I think goblins still own all the money because no one has bothered to change the system."

At the mention of underground and goblins, Sarah started and had to remind herself that the girl hadn't meant anything by it. Hermione had said underground, not _the_ Underground.

"What possible reason could you have for knowing the history of Gringotts and banking?" asked Harry incredulously from his position on the ground.

"All knowledge is worth knowing, Harry," she replied which caused both boys to snort in amusement. "And I pay attention in class."

"Well, they picked a bloody bad time for a rebellion if you ask me. You'd think they'd have enough sense to wait until the war with You-Know-Who is over," commented Ron as he finished what looked like a ham sandwich.

"Actually, this is probably one of the best times to do it. Fudge will be so distracted by Voldemort and the threat of the goblins leaving and—even though the paper didn't say it—the idea of them joining with Voldemort, that he could be more inclined to give in to their demands, as long they're reasonable. Of course, it could all go horribly wrong, quite easily."

The hooting of an owl interrupted their conversation. All four glanced up and saw a tan and white barn owl with a round face and golden eyes sitting on a low branch not five feet above their heads, gazing down at them with an unblinking stare. Sarah recognized him and frowned.

"What?" she asked him, startling her companions.

"Oh, is that your owl, Sarah?" asked Ron. The owl in question swiveled his head to look at Ron with what was unmistakably a glare. The redhead flinched and Sarah burst out laughing.

"No, he's not mine," she managed once she had calmed down. "And I'm pretty sure he dislikes the idea of 'belonging' to anyone. I'm just surprised to see him here. Though…I guess I really shouldn't be."

The owl turned his head back to Sarah. Balancing on one foot, a clawed leg lifted and Sarah watched him blankly while she tried to understand. He put the foot down and shifted on his perch, clicking his beak in annoyance. Edging along the bough he came to the end of the branch, his body weight enough to make the limb dip and sway. The bird hooted again and raised a foot, talons extended.

Sarah stared at the bird then looked at the others. "Any ideas?" she asked.

"Food?" ventured Ron.

"The paper?" Hermione offered with a shrug. The owl murmured in seeming agreement above them.

"You want me to give you the newspaper?" Sarah asked mildly surprised, head tilted back to see above her. The owl ruffled his wings. "No. First off, this isn't mine to give," she poked the paper lying on the grass, "and second, I know you're capable of getting your own, so go do that."

The bird gave her baleful eyes and hissed his displeasure. He hopped from the branch, his outstretched wings directing the descent, and landed in the middle of the group. As the students jumped back to avoid being buffeted by wings, the owl speared a section of the paper with his talons and launched into the sky over Ron's head, the boy dropping to the ground with a startled yelp.

"I guess he really wanted that paper," said Harry, tracking the bird's flight.

Sarah laughed ruefully, "I guess so." She watched the owl head toward the school, the news article fluttering securely within the bird's clawed grasp. "Sorry 'bout your paper, Hermione," she apologized.

"It's alright."

"And you say the bird's not yours?" asked Ron as he picked himself up off the ground.

"No, but I know him. I'm sure I'll be seeing more of him around, too." Sarah frowned thoughtfully, "That's one question answered at least."

"What question?"

Sarah gave them a small, private smile. "Where does he go during the day? Apparently he hides in trees."

"Well," said Harry slowly, "he is an owl."

"Yes," agreed Sarah as she stood, hands dusting off bits of dirt and nature from her clothing, "so it seems." The two boys rose as well, Ron offering Hermione a hand and the four gathered their belongings, heading back to the castle.

"Is History as bad as the rumors say?" asked Sarah. "I have it next and I'm debating on whether I should bring my notebook or a sketch book."

"We have N.E.W.T.s this year, Sarah—you should defiantly go prepared. I don't know if you have similar tests at your old school, but here, if you don't do well on N.E.W.T.s, you won't be accepted into university."

"Hermione," said Harry, a serious expression on his face, "you're the only person I've met who can stay even remotely interested in what Binns is talking about. Sarah," he turned to the brunette, his air still solemn, "bring a sketch pad if you want, but I recommend a pillow."

Ron nodded sagely beside his friend. "It's true. Pity the chairs aren't more comfortable." Hermione heaved a sigh beside the boys and Sarah laughed as they walked into the school.

* * *

Sarah decided it took a will of iron to stay awake in Professor Binns' class. Finding herself cross-eyed within the first five minutes, she pulled out her sketch book and proceeded to keep herself awake. It was an old friend given to her for her sixteenth birthday and had helped her to stay conscious during many a boring class. It was a brown leather sketch book full of poems and short stories, with doodles in every corner and even some full-page artwork she'd taken meticulous care on to get the details just right.

Inside were sketches from her time Underground. Hoggle, Ludo, and Didymus being the main subjects but she also drew lumpy goblins in ill-fitting armor, a wise-man with a bird for a hat, and a maze that never ended. Sometimes, she drew Jareth.

Today, she was sketching Ludo; his ears perked up in interest, a multitude of rocks around his feet. Her drawings never looked quite like their real counterparts, but she'd gotten better as the years progressed. She could hear the ghostly Professor Binns droning and her fellow Slytherins snoring. Most of them anyway.

A folded piece of parchment was slipped onto her desk and Sarah gazed blankly at the paper before looking at the person who had passed it to her. It was the only Slytherin boy her age she had yet to personally meet and she was reluctant to open the note. He raised his eyebrows at her but otherwise did nothing. Taking a quick look at Professor Binns, who was paying not one whit of attention to her, least of all the snoring students in his classroom, Sarah opened the parchment and read:

_You're good. I like the big guy with horns._

Sarah looked back at the boy in surprise. She hadn't expected a compliment on her sketches. She gave him a tentative smile and mouthed "thanks."

He pulled the sheet of paper from her desk, scribbled something hastily on it, and passed it back. Sarah glanced nervously around again but none of the other students were paying attention, most of them looked dead to the world, and Professor Binns was still in the same spot he'd been in for the past ten minutes, lecturing about wizard involvement in World War I.

_Is it real?_

After the initial second of surprise, Sarah had to remind herself that she was no longer among Muggles, but surrounded by people who would be more inclined to believe in her strange friends. She nodded and he smiled at her. He took the paper from her, wrote something, and slipped it back.

_Thought so. Can I look through your book?_

Sarah passed it to him hoping her newfound trust was not misplaced. Professor Binns was still lecturing and her classmates were still in their stupor, though Draco seemed to be trying to wake himself up—he was blinking a lot in any case. When the boy returned the book Sarah gave a silent sigh of relief.

The sound of bells reverberated around the room and signaled a much-anticipated end to class. The Slytherins jerked awake at the noise and Goyle managed to knock an inkpot off his desk in surprise.

"I'm Blaise Zabini," said the boy standing up, hand outstretched. He was a tall black boy with high cheek bones and long, slanting eyes; and he was smiling at her. She took shook his hand with only a little apprehension.

"Sarah Williams."

Pansy pushed her way past Sarah, knocking the girl into her desk and breaking her handshake with Blaise. Sarah glared over her shoulder as she rubbed her side—there would undoubtedly be a lovely bruise. Pansy was talking to Draco with her back to Sarah, so it was only the blond boy who noticed the venomous look. His smile was mocking. Then his eyes turned to Blaise and something shifted. He lifted a pale brow in what was unmistakably disbelief. Draco frowned and left the room with Pansy and their friends following close behind.

Sarah looked at Blaise with suspicion. If he and Draco had something going on, then she probably didn't want anything to do with him. She gathered her supplies, throwing her sketch book in her bag. "If you and Draco are in cahoots or whatever, just leave me alone," she said heading for the door, maneuvering between the desks. Blaise called from behind her.

"Sarah, wait!" he caught her just outside the doorway and paced her in the hallway. "It's not what you think. Draco and I have an…understanding, that's all."

"Look," she said, "I don't know you, but I know that Draco has told the Slytherins to bother me or at the very least ignore me. Why are you being the exception?"

"Because I don't do what Draco commands. Haven't since second year; he leaves me alone."

"How'd that happen?" she asked turning a corner and nearly running over a younger student in Hufflepuff colors. The blond girl gave her a strange look when Sarah apologized and hastily went on her way.

"You have to get him to respect you. Or at least fear you. Give him a reason to leave you alone and he will."

"It's that easy?" she asked disbelieving. "I find that hard to believe considering the number of students he seems to terrorize."

"Yes, well, I guess being in Slytherin gives me a little more leeway."

"How very bigoted of him. Where are we going?" she demanded abruptly, halting on some stairs and looking at Blaise who stopped short right beside her.

"Herbology?" he offered. "We have it next with Ravenclaw."

"Right. I forgot. This is the day with all Slytherin classes," she scowled at Blaise as he blinked at her.

"We're not all mean, Sarah," he voice was resigned voice, as if it was something he argued often.

"Maybe. But you don't go out of your way to be nice, either."

He sighed but agreed. "True enough. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," she said after a short moment. "You've just volunteered to be my guide, so lead on."

* * *

David Mathis was already in Greenhouse 6 when Sarah arrived. When she walked in the building she greeted him with a smile but felt a distinct lack of welcome when he acknowledged and then ignored her. Idly, and little sadly, she marveled at how quickly the other Houses were able to prejudice their new members against the students in Slytherin.

Professor Sprout came in and sectioned them off into groups of two, Sarah being stuck with a Ravenclaw named Donald Felstone who seemed astounded when she proved to be more than adequate in the handling of the dangerous Hellsing Bloodular plant. She was highly offended by his haughty attitude and decided that perhaps the Slytherins weren't entirely responsible for all the ill-feeling among the student population.

* * *

That night Sarah wrote a letter to her parents about what magic she was learning and the strange creatures she had seen and then she wrote very different letters to her friends who didn't know she was a witch. She explained that Hogwarts was an actual castle built a thousand years ago and while it didn't have the internet (thus the reason she was writing a letter) it had an extensive library with shelves upon shelves of books that undoubtedly would cover every subject she would ever have to research. She wrote about the castle grounds and the professors and tried to make it as Muggle-sounding as possible.

When Sarah was done with her letters, she sat staring into the fireplace in her dorm and half-wished she was back home.

That night she did not dream.

* * *

Author's Note Part 2 — I make no claim to knowing anything about banking or politics. I think math is evil and politics even more so. Forgive my lack of accuracy and just go with whatever I manage to come up with, okay? Cool. 


	7. Conversations Over Coffee

Author's Note —

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

Please forgive my interpretation of Hagrid's accent. If you find error with it, well, I'm the author of this fic and I have artistic license, so there. :P

Disclaimer — No, I don't own it or them. Any of them. Though if I had the choice; it'd be a highly difficult toss-up between Jareth and Snape.

* * *

Chapter Seven—Conversations Over Coffee

"Not that I mind," Sarah started as she switched seats and began to set out her supplies, "but why would Professor Snape pair us up?"

"He hates giving students extra help. Since I believe the two of us are the best in this class, pairing us with anyone else would give that other student an advantage," explained Hermione as she pulled out her notes.

"This is Advanced Potions!" exclaimed Sarah, though quietly. Professor Snape was currently on the other side of the classroom and the two girls were whispering. "How much help does he think we could be? Everyone in this class is certainly smart enough; I mean, I know _I_ had to take placement tests before I came."

Hermione shrugged as she put the ingredients for the day's potion on the cutting board before her. "He's particular about things like that. It does make a certain amount of sense, from an instructor's point of view," she admitted before the conversation came to a halt as the professor came upon them in a swish of black robes. He hovered over them and Sarah felt her shoulders tensing as his shadow swallowed her own.

"As it is most certainly impossible for you to be finished with the potion, Miss Granger, I suggest you cease your idle chatter and return to work." His voice was that striking mixture of allure and repugnance that Sarah found so compelling. If he would dispel the contempt that layered his every word, his powers of speech would surely earn him the attention his looks could not. When she realized where her thoughts were drifting, she indulged in a brief mental giggle then scolded herself and promised never to think that way again. The professor's scowl was ferocious as he towered over the two girls, "Five points for wasting Miss Williams' time." Spots of color rose on Hermione's cheeks, but the girl pressed her lips together and bowed over her work. The paring knife the girl wielded was slicing the sprigs of mint a little more vehemently than necessary and once Snape had moved away, Sarah reached out to save her friend from destroying their supplies.

An hour and twenty minutes later, the potion safely stored and their workstation cleaned, Hermione quietly vented as they climbed out of the dungeons. "You would think that after six years, I'd be used to this treatment. But, oh! He makes me so angry. If he wasn't brilliant, I think I'd hate him."

"Hermione," Sarah began as she and the other girl entered a hallway and turned to the right, "how can you _not_ hate him? The man goes out of his way to give you a difficult time. It's childish and petty."

"His personal qualities could be improved—he is not a nice man," Hermione agreed. "But, I do admire him. He has done…many great things." She frowned at something, a memory perhaps, before shaking her head and leaving Sarah to wonder just what Professor Snape had done to earn the respect of someone he so apparently loathed.

* * *

In her Current Magical Events class, they discussed the implications of another goblin walk-out. While in recent years goblins had mostly stopped rebelling and rioting in the streets, the threat of them closing Gringotts again was a frightening idea. No one wanted another Great Depression.

When it was brought up in class about the idea of wizards starting their own banks, Professor Llewellyn nodded but explained how it had been considered before but no wizard or group of wizards had enough funds to start their own lending company and no one really trusted in their government as much as they trusted the goblins not to cheat them and to keep their money safe.

The goblins had declared once-upon-a-time that if one wizard-owned bank was created, then Gringotts would close. All the Gringotts in the world would shut down and the goblins would leave with their gold and not return.

It was an ultimatum no one wanted to press.

* * *

On the way down to her Care of Magical Creatures lesson, Sarah ran into Hermione and the boys and the four of them walked to class together.

When they were situated in a semi-circle around the creature of the day, Sarah found herself next to Neville, a shy boy who turned red when she smiled at him. The other Gryffindor boys had been wary of her presence but were polite enough when Harry introduced her. The Gryffindor girls were another case. Hermione had explained in a somewhat exasperated voice that Lavender and Parvati were silly and Sarah found herself inclined to agree and therefore ignored the two when they started whispering and glancing in her direction.

When her attention began to wander during Professor Hagrid's lecture she looked to the Slytherin side of the circle. Draco was glaring at her with contempt written all over his face and Pansy, her charming roommate, looked little better. Their backup of Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Millicent looked hulking and angry. Blaise, clearly on the Slytherin side but slightly separated from them, noticed Sarah watching him and gazed at her with disapproving eyes.

The other Slytherins she could deal with, but such disdain coming from Blaise, whom she thought to be a decent guy, hurt.

* * *

"Williams!" called Professor Hagrid as she turned to leave with the rest of the students. "Wait a minute; I'd like a word with yeh." Sarah nodded to the others to continue on without her, but Hermione said she would wait behind.

"I've a letter here for yeh," said the professor patting his many vest pockets before finding the right one and pulling out a crinkled envelope. It looked tiny within his large hand. "This was given ter me last night by a couple o' goblins I met down in Hogsmeade."

She stared at the letter he passed to her. "For me, Professor?" she asked, confused. "They had a letter addressed for me?" And it was—_Sarah Williams_—written by an unfamiliar hand on the front of the envelope.

"Do yeh have business with goblins often?" he continued, oblivious to her bewilderment. "'Cause if yeh do, yeh might think about doin' it the normal way, with an owl." He smiled down at Sarah through a big, bushy beard and perhaps misinterpreting her expression, hastened to reassure her. "Now, I'm not mad at yeh. In fact, seein' as how yeh have good taste in company here," a quick nod to Hermione behind her, "I'd like it if yeh call me Hagrid, all my friends do." With those cheerful words the giant man walked off leaving Sarah in a stunned silence to stare at her letter.

With a quick swipe of her finger, the seal on the envelope was opened and Sarah was amazed at what she found inside. Another envelope—this one addressed to the _Goblin King_.

"What?" Sarah questioned out loud staring at the name in incomprehension. Why on earth would goblins address a letter to her only to have another one inside addressed to Jareth? Couldn't they give it to him themselves? How would they know to give it to _her_?

"Is anything wrong, Sarah?" asked Hermione as Sarah turned to face her.

"No. No, nothing's wrong. I'm just…" Sarah paused and shook her head, slapping the envelope against her open palm, a bemused smile on her face. "I'm amazed at the irony of the situation."

"The irony?" repeated Hermione. "Oh. I thought from your expression, maybe something was…wrong?"

"No," said Sarah as she held the letter above her head and waved it around. "Nothing's wrong. Just odd." She looked for Jareth, but she didn't see the figure of an owl anywhere and no golden eyes peeked at her from among the leaves. Sarah frowned but put the envelope in her bag. She'd give it to him later.

Hermione didn't ask any more questions and the two girls made their way back up the hill to the castle.

* * *

In art class, she painted her first moving portrait. There was something just the tiniest bit off with the spell she used to enliven her picture: the animation turned out fine, but the subject of her panting melted into a colorful blob that slubbed aimlessly back and forth across the canvas. It was disturbing and hilarious at the same time.

* * *

She knew immediately that she was in a dream. However, this one was not like any of the previous ones.

She was sitting in an outdoor café in what was obviously a wizard community. Judging by the accents, she guessed they were somewhere in France. The street they sat on was lined with cobblestones and storefronts with large glass windows and many shoppers. Glancing down, Sarah realized that her clothing had changed as well; instead of the school uniform she had worn before, or even the pajamas she had fallen asleep in, she was wearing a set of deep violet robes and something that felt uncomfortably like a bustier. There was a brownie dessert surrounded by vanilla ice cream directly before her and Jareth in the seat across the table.

He was lounging in his chair, long legs stretched out, looking completely at ease in dark brown leather boots and pants two shades lighter, a crème shirt with lace at neck and wrist and a forest green jacket over it. She hadn't realized until then how close his clothing came to being wizard wear.

He was sipping on a cup of coffee, one gloved hand tapping out rhythms on the table top.

"I thought these were supposed to be my dreams?" she said by way of greeting. "But this is a town with people, and food," a quick glance down at the confection on the table, "and don't you even dare try to say I made this all up. You took over my dream." She knew she was scowling at him but felt that a little petulance was acceptable.

"Quite right," he agreed, sounding not at all contrite. "This is La Ville Cachée, and we are here because this café has the best coffee I've ever found."

"We're in France because you wanted coffee?" she asked, her voice as dry as she could make it.

"Yes."

He was watching her over the rim of his cup, his body facing out toward the avenue where people were shopping and hurrying home in the twilight. She silently marveled how anyone could look as comfortable in his own skin as he always seemed to be.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she realized she was staring. Sarah looked away first.

The brownie in front of her smelled delicious and warm though the ice cream sitting next to it had yet to melt. Magic. There was a fork and napkin placed next to her plate.

"The food does not get eaten without a certain amount of participation on your behalf," came the sardonic voice from across the table. When she remained quiet and touched nothing, he sighed. "So distrustful. I give you my word, Sarah, that I had nothing to do with the creation of that dish except in the requesting of it by way of a young man named Jean-Pierre who came to take my order. He's inside if you'd like to question him."

She glanced away from Jareth who had put down his coffee cup and was frowning at her. "I'm just being cautious," was her reply.

"Even in your dreams?"

She lowered her eyes and looked back down at the food. "Most especially then." She folded the linen napkin in her lap and picked up her fork. She took a bite and it was delicious. "It's good. This is one of my favorite desserts," she said in apology.

"Yes, I know."

She ate quietly for a few minutes, savoring the warmth of the brownie and the pleasant coolness of the ice cream mixed together. Jean-Pierre, indeed he did exist, came out to check on _Monsieur_ and _Mademoiselle_ and Jareth ordered another cup of coffee and no, nothing more for Sarah, _merci_.

Smokeless torches lined the pathways and casting a pleasant glow in the darkness, creating an atmosphere in which Sarah happily relaxed. It was quite peaceful out, couples strolling down the lane arm in arm, small children draped over a parent's shoulder, and the stillness of night surrounding them.

"Oh," she exclaimed after several moments of companionable silence, "I almost forgot. I was given a letter for you by some goblins one of my professors met in Hogsmeade yesterday." She pursed her lips to refrain from smiling. "You're the owl; aren't you the one who's supposed to deliver me _my_ mail?"

She did smile when he glared at her.

"Why couldn't the goblins deliver it directly to you?" she asked. "And I thought you didn't have anything to do with these goblins because Professor Dumbledore said the Wizarding world doesn't know about you."

"I am the Goblin King, Sarah. While I do not rule them, the Aboveground goblins know me and from time to time request my assistance. They do not tell of my existence and I do not trouble theirs. I suspect," he said with a small frown that thinned his lips, "that this correspondence concerns their troubles with the ministry." He held out his hand to her, imperiously gloved as always.

"I'm asleep!" she exclaimed. "You can have it in the morning."

"Sarah, for all accounts and purposes, thisis_ your_ dream. You can do whatever you want in it," his hand circled the air as if to demonstrate a point, "including, but not limited to, handing me a letter. Give it here."

"I don't like your attitude," she said.

"You're trying my patience," he replied.

She sent him her best withering glare but took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She imagined her school bag next to her feet, her books and quills and ink pots stowed inside along with one little letter.

Sarah felt a weight settle just to the left of her foot and she knew it had worked. Reaching into her bag she pulled out the yellow envelope and handed it to Jareth. He flicked it out of existence with a negligent wave of his hand.

"All that fuss for something not that important?" she groused.

He shrugged and settled back into his chair, one hand winding back around the warmth of his cup. Somehow, Sarah had never pictured the Goblin King's drink of choice to be coffee.

"It should not happen again, but on the chance it does, I would appreciate if you would watch for more dispatches."

"Sure," she said, surprised at the request. "It's not that big of a deal."

He nodded his thanks.

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something. Where are Ludo and Hoggle? I talked to Didymus and he said you had them doing stuff for you. It's been three months and they're not home yet."

He tilted his head back to gaze at the stars that had become visible with the arrival of night. "Not all things can or should be created by magic, Sarah." He paused after the cryptic statement, seeming to consider his words. "Your friends are fine; I currently have need of their specific skills."

"Oh. May I ask what you have them doing?"

"You may not."

"Then will you tell me when they'll be done?" she snapped. "Didymus and I miss our friends."

His head came up and he stared at her. "The fox-knight was sent to join the others once you arrived at Hogwarts. The portal which allows your communication with your companions is located at your home. You cannot call them here."

"Oh." The tiny word came out sounding dejected even to her ears.

"The point of being in a new place, Sarah, is to meet new people," he admonished in an almost not-harsh tone of voice.

"I don't really like my Housemates," she admitted, finding a lock of hair and messing with it. "And the rest of the students don't seem to like me because I'm in Slytherin."

He turned his head and slid her a glance out the corner of his eye. "What about those Gryffindors I see you with?"

"We're friendly," she acknowledged, "but I don't think we're friends." She shrugged and gave a small smile. "It's still the first week, though. It's just been a long time since I was the 'new kid' in school, I guess. Let's change the subject, please?"

"If you wish."

They spent the remainder of the night in pleasant, inconsequential conversation.

* * *


	8. Rainy Day Man

Author's Note—

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

Disclaimer —

The literary genius known as J. K. Rowling owns all HP characters and ideas. The Henson people own Sarah and Co. Sadly, and pathetically, I own…not much and certainly not them.

* * *

Chapter Eight—Rainy Day Man

That first weekend at Hogwarts, Sarah went exploring. She spent a day walking around the school grounds, enjoying the moors with their untamed beauty, and the giant lake with the equally giant squid which seemed to like being tickled by students. There were carefully maintained walking paths that trickled all over the grounds and through the safe patch of small woods on the north shore of the lake where she observed a game of capture the frog being played one evening. In contrast, the Forbidden Forest on the south side of the school grounds, looming just beyond Hagrid's hut was a large, menacing line of trees that stretched for miles and looked as deep as it was wide. From that section of trees, there were no happy shouts of laughter, only the occasional howl and the sound of large _somethings_ moving about.

She spent the next day exploring the castle, the heavy rains outside giving her a perfect excuse. She found the Owlery with its hundreds of birds all different shapes and sizes. She located the library and its overseer, Madam Pince, and Sarah wondered if it was a universal truth that school librarians were mean, hard-nosed ladies with unpleasant personalities. She was a little disappointed with Hogwarts' selection of books. Most of them seemed to be research and information related, which was understandable, but they had hardly any leisure reading material. There was a small section for "classic" stories by famous witch and wizard authors that she decided she might like to read sometime.

She discovered the hospital wing and the trophy room and many doors that lead to nowhere and hallways hidden behind tapestries and then she found something that pleased her greatly. Sarah came across a roof-top garden; one of many actually, with a plain three-sided balcony and a short stone balustrade on which to lean. It was a little larger than the dorm room she shared with Pansy and Millicent and it was full to bursting with flowers and plants of all kinds. Though the sun was bright overhead, the flora were wrapped up tight and safely asleep; nightblooming flowers. Sarah made a mental note to come back sometime after dark to witness the plants in their glory.

The entrance to the garden was a small wooden door, circular and reminding her greatly of a hobbit hole, set at a low level into the stone wall of the castle and hidden behind a giant statue of the thirteen-fingered witch of Derbyshire. The door squeaked when she opened it and she found herself ducking quickly through and shutting it behind her.

It wasn't anything obvious like clinging spider webs and forgotten, withered flowers overrun by weeds, but Sarah had a feeling that the garden had few, if any, visitors. There was an air of tranquility to the place that seemed to echo within her and she was reluctant to disturb it. There was a small wrought-iron bistro next to the low railing at the far end of the terrace where someone could sit and enjoy the view of the castle grounds and the Forest in the distance. She liked the place.

When she dreamed at night, Jareth was snappish and distracted.

She enjoyed her weekend of peace.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, her essay for Transfigurations was gone. A full two feet of parchment she'd put off all weekend to write and had spent late last night working on, was not where it should have been. She put it in her desk drawer. She _knew_ she put it in her desk drawer. Sarah rummaged frantically through paper and ink and books and other random bits she'd put in her desk, but couldn't find her essay. It was with a feeling of dread turning her stomach that she hurried to class early hoping to speak with Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, Miss Williams?" asked the professor when Sarah stopped at her desk in the front of the classroom. There were papers scattered across the wooden surface, many of them with red markings all across the pages.

"Professor," Sarah began, "I don't know how it happened but my essay for today's class is gone. I'm sorry, I must have misplaced it somewhere because I can't find it and I looked and looked. I know this goes against your policy but could you please grant me an extension or something so that I can find my paper or write you another one?"

Professor McGonagall looked unsympathetically at her and Sarah felt her heart sink. She knew the professor's reply before the woman even opened her mouth.

"No, Miss Williams. My answer is no and always has been. I do not give extensions for students who misplace their work. I suggest that in the future you take extra care of your assignments; your grade in this class depends on it."

"But, Professor!" Sarah begged. "Please, if you would onl…."

"No," cut in McGonagall. "I make exceptions only for extenuating circumstances and this is not such a case." Other students started entering the room then, Crabbe and Theodore followed shortly by Draco and Pansy. Sarah went to her desk and sat, dejected and upset. When Pansy, blonde hair in unflattering little girl ringlets, placed her essay on the professor's desk she turned to look at Sarah with a smug grin and gave a mocking wave. The girl whispered in her boyfriend's ear as they walked to their seats and the two laughed and shared the news with their friends.

Sarah knew then what had happened to her essay.

Blaise sat down beside her with a pleasant greeting and Sarah couldn't tell whether he knew about her problem or not. When he asked her how she thought she did on her paper, it was all she could do not to break down right there in front of him.

Somehow she made it through class without shouting or yelling or crying. She wanted to hurt Pansy, wanted to scream out that it wasn't fair. Instead, Sarah sat quietly through class taking notes and transfigured her textbook into a little textbook-colored bunny which hopped about the room while the other students had less success in their endeavors.

When class was over she rushed out of the room and spent frantic minutes trying to remember the way to the garden she had found. Hermione called out as she ran past, but Sarah didn't respond or even acknowledge that she had seen the Head Girl.

When she found the small door behind the statute she fumbled with the handle and shoved her weight against the wood until it finally opened. She kicked the entrance closed behind her and dropped her bag to the ground, not caring when some of the contents spilled. Turning back to the door, she kicked it again. Again and again until her foot was aching and she feared she might have broken something. She pummeled it with a fist, pain darting up her arm in sharp, jagged lances as screams of fury tore unbidden from her mouth. The solid thunking sound of her shoe hitting the wood and the dull throbbing in her body eased some need within her so that when she ceased her abuse, she was sore but no longer ready to explode.

Taking in gasping breaths and rubbing away the trickle of wetness she felt sliding down her cheeks, she limped over to the table and chairs and sat heavily down, staring morosely out over the grounds. No one seemed to be eating outside today; the dark shadow of clouds lurking over the school was probably the reason. Taking off her shoe and sock she examined her foot and decided that while she didn't seem to have broken anything, her toes had been painfully stubbed and there would be some fantastic bruises forming soon.

Putting her sock and shoe back on she sat staring sulkily at the Forbidden Forest in the distance. Absently she massaged her hand and up her arm to her elbow where the stinging was worst.

The snap of wings and the sound of talons scraping on stone drew her head to the left where she saw an owl settle itself onto the corner railing. She turned forward to ignore the bird and watch the trees. When he made no move to leave, Sarah sighed.

"Go away," her voice sounded hoarse from screaming. The bird didn't twitch and she could feel golden eyes staring at her.

"Please, just leave. I really don't want any company right now." The rain started then, a light misting that seemed like it might continue for the rest of the day. She looked to the sky and let the rain course down her face in droplets that blurred her vision and soothed her raw throat.

After several minutes of sitting, wet and dripping, she took a deep breath and began speaking.

"I like it here, I really do, but the people are making it very difficult for me. I can deal with being ignored, I can deal with that just _fine_, but I'm not used to such open and active hatred." She was quiet for several moments, feeling the cool water roll down her body, soaking into her clothes and chilling her skin. No doubt she'd get sick if she continued to sit in the rain. "The thing that makes me angriest is that I'm being hated for something I have no control over." The owl made no sound from where he sat, rain sliding off his feathers, but she had the sense that he was listening.

"That stupid hat. That stupid, _fucking_ hat!" she burst out, heat entering her voice. "It's just a way for them to assign students to dorms. The school would have better success to number off the students rather than trying to split them up by personality and characteristics." She was silent, then, "If I'd been put in any other House, I'd have been accepted right away and I wouldn't be this miserable and lonely."

Sarah leaned forward and folded her arms against the table, laying her cheek into the crook of an elbow. "And of course," she continued, voice slightly muffled, "I go and say exactly the wrong thing to the wrong student on the very first day of classes and then he makes it his personal mission to make my life miserable, recruiting his friends to help. Oh, God!" she managed a harsh laugh, "imagine what would have happened if I'd told them my parents are Muggles!

"And now I've gone and become friendly with the Gryffindors, specifically the ones they don't like; so that's another reason for the Slytherins to hate me. Then, today, Draco's girlfriend, _Pansy_, stole a paper I was supposed to turn in for Professor McGonagall. Probably turned it in as her own. And the professor wouldn't let me have an extension because I'm in _Slytherin_. If it'd had been a student in any other House, I bet she would have given them time to look for their essay, or maybe have accepted a new one for a reduced grade. But, I'm in Slytherin and therefore I was probably just lying to cover the fact that I didn't do my work."

Sarah knew she sounded whiny and small-minded, but she didn't care. After what she'd put up with, she felt a little complaining on her part was certainly acceptable. She was feeling bitchy and irritable and wanted to spread the gloomy mood to others.

"Do you plan to stay like this all day?" drawled a voice from her left, startling her from her grumpy thoughts. She looked quickly over, drawing up from her slump, and saw Jareth watching her. Gazing at him, she realized this was the first time since running the Labyrinth that they'd come face to face.

He was relaxing against a corner of the railing, arms folded and wearing a hooded cloak that shadowed his face. It was tan and brown and the falling rain beaded off it and fell in rivulets to the stone floor.

"I must say, I thought you stronger than this, Sarah. Sitting in the rain, moping. Not what I expected from you."

"Well, no one invited you here!" she snapped. "I've had a bad day, Goblin King, and I think I'm allowed to _mope_ about it if I want to."

"Do you honestly believe you should have been placed in another House?" he inquired, ignoring her outburst. "I think you're exactly where you should be," his voice was harsh and laced with annoyance.

"What do you mean?" she asked frowning, feeling that she might not like his reply. She pushed wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

His head beneath the hood turned and she caught his profile in the subdued daylight. "Hufflepuffs are loyal and hardworking; you are not. If you were worthy of that House, then you would have worked harder to make friends and you wouldn't be so _lonely_ and malcontent as you are now." He stepped away from the railing, arms crossed and gloved hands cupping his elbows. He followed a walking-path between the garden planters toward her and it took almost everything she had not to retreat from his advance. Even burdened by a cloak, his movements were graceful and entrancing, as they always were, and Sarah watched his approach in troubled fascination.

"The students in Ravenclaw would have been intelligent enough to make a second copy of their work on the chance something should happen to the original. And the Gryffindors, those courageous children, would stand up to their tormentors and face them forthwith. You have not done so, and therefore your placement in Slytherin is correct. Slytherins think only of themselves. They are tricky and conniving creatures who use any means necessary to get what they want." The king's voice dropped to a low hiss and he practically spat out the last part, "They don't take responsibility for their actions."

Sarah, incensed, jumped from her seat to face him. "How dare you!" she cried. "Don't presume to know me. You don't _know_ me!" Her hands were clenched and she trembled with suppressed rage.

"I know you better than you know _yourself_, foolish girl," he snapped.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted, her anger finally spilling over, her ire having found a willing target. "I'm having a really bad day! I didn't need you to come here and make me feel worse. I didn't invite you but you showed up and I thought that meant you wanted to listen to my problems."

"Not to the whining of a spoiled little girl. I thought I'd gotten you past that phase."

"So sorry that you had to listen to me vent! That's what I do when I'm upset, Goblin King. That's what lots of people do; we bitch and complain about our problems. If we're lucky, there's someone there with us to try and make us feel better by nodding sympathetically and commiserating about the crappiness of life and unfairness of it all. Then, after we get it out of our system, we get over it!"

"Unfair?" he sneered, his voice so thick with contempt it was a wonder he hadn't choked on the word. The faint, untraceable lilt he spoke with seemed to sharpen and become more pronounced with the heat of his scorn. "I thought you'd learned, Sarah. I thought you understood that lesson."

He stepped a few feet closer, right inside her personal space, making her uncomfortable but she was unwilling to back down from him. She could tell by his body posture that he was furious, could see it in every line of his stance. She felt waves of energy rolling from him; the unmistakable sensation of power and presence she had not felt since her time Underground. He seemed taller and greater and far more alien and _other_ than anything she had ever come across. She was thankful, so very thankful, that his eyes were shadowed by the hood of his cloak. She did not want to see his eyes.

"That life's unfair? Yeah," her tone as heavy with disdain as she could make it, "I got that message, loud and clear." She gestured wildly to the castle behind her, "But considering how I want nothing more than to run in there and tear apart the whole of Slytherin with my bare hands, I think being out here and _whining_ about my problems is the smarter choice." Sarah realized her voice was shaking and her body was fairly buzzing with energy needing to be released in some way or other. Or maybe she was just shivering with the cold.

"You'll let them get away with their pranks?" came his question from beneath the hood. He seemed a little more in control, she no longer felt overwhelmed by the power of his anger. _Or maybe that wasn't anger,_ came the stray thought at what she felt was certainly the wrong time to consider such things, _maybe that's just him._

"What do you propose I should do?" she responded, rubbing a hand over her face and through dripping, wet hair. She shifted, wincing as she moved a toe and revived the pain in her abused foot. Her robes were clinging to her body in cold, damp folds of cloth. "Go to my professors and tattle? I have no way to prove that I wrote an essay let alone that someone took it. Should I go and try to hex Pansy; get my revenge that way? What good would that do? She's a prefect and Draco is Head Boy—if I did anything, I'd be getting detention from now until Christmas."

"So you'll give up? Give in?" There was a slight difference to his voice, the tone more dissatisfied than anything else. The threat was gone from his posture, though now she wasn't sure if it had been there at all in the first place.

"No." She hadn't known until just then what she would do, but the answer came to her and she agreed with it. "I can't turn her in for this without proof and I refuse stoop down to her level. I have too much pride for that." Jareth made a sound under his hood and shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other, the cloak swinging about his legs. Sarah had the distinct impression that she'd amused him somehow. She scowled but continued. "I'll just have to deal with this in a reasonable manner. I'll…lock up all my assignments, transfigure them into something else, turn them invisible or whatever. I could probably even give them to my professors as soon as I'm done instead of keeping them in my dorm."

"You're going to accept persecution and the loss of grade in your class because you don't wish to cause a ruckus?" She could hear the surprise in his voice. Whatever had caused his wrath before had certainly left him now.

"I'm _going_ to inform the Head Girl of what happened so that she can make a record of my complaint. Since I doubt Pansy was smart enough to think about it, I probably still have my rough drafts in my trashcan; I'm going to rewrite my essay and turn it in to Professor McGonagall so that she can see I'm not some lazy, lying Slytherin. I'll tell her that I think someone took my other one, but I have no way to prove it. I don't really care if she accepts it for a grade or not; it's only one assignment. I _will_ go and tell Pansy that should my homework go missing again I'll report everything to Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore and that I have no problem whatsoever with arranging a meeting for the five of us." She finished quickly, the words almost tumbling from her mouth in her fervor.

The rain was letting up, easing to the barest sprinkle. Sarah was wet completely through, but at the moment she didn't care. She watched as Jareth reached one gloved hand up and readjusted his hood, pulling it back a little now that water was no longer such a hazard. She could see the lines of his pale face below and the almost-glow of his eyes from the slight shadow the cowl created.

"That's your great plan?" was all he asked, which disappointed Sarah greatly. She thought it a fine idea. He snorted lightly and turned from her, following a walking-path toward a large marble planter by the garden door.

"Well, I certainly don't feel like going and starting a hexing war with the girl and her friends. I don't think it would end well…for me."

"You were not taught self defense?" the question came out hard as he whirled to face her, his cloak flaring in a dramatic sweep.

"Well, yes, I was," she said, caught off guard at his show of emotion, "but I'm not stupid enough to try and take on six Slytherins from my year and whichever younger ones they manage to recruit. I have to live with these people. I'd like to get through the school year without constantly fearing an attack."

"The Wizarding world is at war, Sarah, or hadn't you realized?"

"Yes, I know that. But what does that have to do with Pansy and Draco?"

A gloved hand cupped an elbow while the other rose to tap his cheek, his head tilting slightly. He studied her for a moment, as though considering whether to answer. Finally, he pursed his lips and ignored her question. "You could, of course," he offered in a smooth voice that sent chills all over her body, "wish your enemies over to me." He smile was nasty as he gave his suggestion. "Having bested the Labyrinth, the same Rules no longer apply. You could spend hours in my castle watching the little miscreants run afoul of the more unpleasant inhabitants of my kingdom. It would be quite amusing, I assure you."

She couldn't help the sharp bark of laughter that escaped her mouth. "Ha! It's a nice thought. Thanks, but no."

"Perhaps you'll change your mind."

Sarah found herself enjoying the way he looked silhouetted in the dim daylight. Gray clouds were still overhead, covering the entire sky and shading everything in a half-light. She hadn't realized she was staring at him until he spoke and startled her from her reverie.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice calm and even, head still angled, loose strands of hair blowing slightly in the wind.

"I…" she started, "yes, I am." Sarah was amazed to realize it was true. The anger that had been simmering just below her surface had bubbled over while she shouted at Jareth and now there was none left.

"Good."

'_Good?'_ she thought. _What does he mean by that? And why does he sound so smug about it? _When the answer came to her, she groaned and stared at him in disbelief. "You were doing that on _purpose!_ Why?" she asked incredulously.

"To bring you out of your doldrums, of course."

"By pissing me off? There are other ways to go about making me feel better!"

He shot her an annoyed glance. "It worked, did it not? I should think you'd be more appreciative. I did you a great service."

"Oh, no," Sarah scoffed, sarcasm threading her voice, "you're not conceited at all. Humble as the day you were born, I bet."

"I, ungrateful child, was not _born_."

"What?" she asked, falling off her soap box at his abrupt declaration. "What do you mean you weren't born?"

"It is as I said."

She blinked at him and wasn't quite sure how to continue. She wanted to ask him questions but knew it would unbearably rude. "Oh," was all she managed, to her chagrin. She flushed and tried to change the subject. "Er, well, then thank you. For, um, making me feel better. I…appreciate it."

He eyed her as if he didn't quite believe her sincerity. And considering her deliverance, she didn't blame him. "You're welcome," he said after a moment. "I think it is past time you went inside. You've missed half a class, I believe."

"Only History. I doubt if the professor's noticed my absence, anyway."

"Not that you seem to pay much attention. That little book of yours is getting quite full."

She shook her head in wonderment, sending drops of water flying and plastering wet hair to her face and neck. She peeled those off and studied Jareth for a moment. "You know, for some reason that I don't understand, the thought of you spying on me doesn't bother me as much as I know it should. I think…if you were anyone else, I'd feel differently."

"Why, Sarah," he began, as he pushed back his hood and she was able to look fully upon his face. The rain had stopped, aside from the few odd drops that fell from tree branches and dripped off the roof of the castle. "Are you saying that you _trust_ me?"

Did she? That was the crux of the matter. She did. _Damn,_ she thought._ When did that happen?_

She didn't want to say it, didn't want to confess, but there was a twisting in her gut that said if she didn't, she'd regret it. "Yes," she admitted finally. "I think I do, to some _small_ extent." A smug, triumphant grin worked its way onto Jareth's face and she almost regretted her words, wished to take them back. "Please…don't abuse it," was what she settled on.

He arched an eyebrow at her, smirk still on his lips, and nodded once in acknowledgement. "You have my word," he promised in such a way that Sarah was not relieved of her anxiety.

"Now," he said in a tone that caught her by surprise, "get to class. I did not pay for you to come here only to skip out on your lessons. Or," he paused and looked her over with a slight frown, one hand on his hip, the other tapping a pattern on the balustrade, "perhaps your History class can be missed today. A trip to the hospital wing and a change of clothes might be of more importance."

Sarah was confused at his apparent interest in her welfare and tried to cover it with a smart-alecky remark. "You think?"

"On occasion," he replied, unperturbed by her tone. He nodded toward the small door in the castle wall, "Go, before you become ill."

Sarah sighed but limped in her uncomfortable, wet clothes to grab her bag from where she had dropped it, noting absently that it was soaked completely through; her books and papers inside no doubt ruined. She curled her lip in annoyance and resigned herself to having wrinkled textbooks that made crinkly noises whenever she flipped a page.

"Sarah," called Jareth from behind her, "catch." She turned in time to see a glass orb flying toward her face. She caught it reflexively and nearly dropped it when she realized what it was. She looked to Jareth with a question but he was gone in a sudden shattering of displaced light. In her hand the crystal popped.

Sarah was even more startled when she realized that her robes were no longer wet; they were still uncomfortable and clingy, her skirt underneath was stiff and itchy, but they were dry. Searching through her bag, the supplies within it were perfectly unharmed.

She was smiling to herself when she shuffled back into the school.

* * *


	9. In the Flesh

Author's Note —

**10/6/06**

**So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

Disclaimer —

If the characters were mine, I'd have made Jareth take off his shirt and have Snape's hair turn pink at some point.

* * *

Chapter Nine—In the Flesh

Sarah had been at school for over a month and things had gotten significantly better. Most of the Slytherins still ignored her (which she felt was better than being harassed) and once the craziness and novelty of being at Hogwarts had settled down, she realized that not every Slytherin was part of Draco's gang. Quite a few weren't, actually.

Though he had certainly done a nice job dominating the group his own age, it was the Slytherins just a year or two younger who, while leery of his power as Head Boy, did not obey his every whim. Perhaps, having known Draco when he was still on the lower rungs of the House ladder, the other students had decided the boy wasn't as intimidating as he thought himself to be. It was the newer pupils, the unformed individuals still easily influenced by others, upon whom Draco gleefully exercised his authority. Of course, the younger students were eleven, twelve, and thirteen-years-old and Sarah didn't find them very intimidating at all. While the Slytherin students did not place themselves in the line of fire by trying to be friends with her, if an association developed—then that was that.

Esmerelda DeVilbiss, the sixth-year Slytherin in her Current Magical Events Class, was paired with Sarah for a class assignment and for those few days, the girls got along very well, each doing their share of work with no major problems arising. When the project was over, Esmerelda continued her camaraderie, the two of them sitting next to each other in class and sometimes studying together in the Slytherin common room.

Blaise had a large circle of friends in Slytherin, mostly fifth and sixth-years to whom he introduced Sarah. It also seemed he was on sociable terms with several Ravenclaws and a few Hufflepuffs he had had classes with throughout the years. Sarah refrained from pointing out that his non-Slytherin friends were all pure-bloods and would freely tell you that fact.

Millicent Bulstrode along with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were good henchpersons but not that creative when it came to actually bullying someone. They left that to Draco and Pansy. It had taken Sarah some time to realize that most of the actual harassment came from Pansy, not Draco. The blond boy had been leaving her mostly alone, aside from making a nasty comment whenever they passed each other in the hallways or maybe throwing something at her in class—an activity Sarah found very childish. But really, he seemed to have backed off and let Pansy do as she would.

After the homework incident, Sarah began to lock all her books and assignments in her trunk. Her belongings were put away and her section of the room looked empty and plain. She was very careful not to leave anything sitting out—items like bed sheets and pillows could not be hid at all times and Sarah very quickly became acquainted with the house-elves who cared for the Slytherin dorms. Trudee and Binna were always happy to clean whatever mess was left on Sarah's bed (a pile of dragon dung for example) and if her clothes were found damaged, they were quickly repaired, good as new, without even a scorch mark or a patch job. Sarah blessed her friendship with the Gryffindors boys for the wonderful knowledge of where the house-elves were to be found.

Over the course of the month, Sarah split her time between Blaise and his circle of friends and the Gryffindors and the friends she had made over there. Hermione and the boys were happy to have Sarah sit with them during meal times and eventually some of the others came around as well. Neville continued to blush red whenever she was near while Seamus and Dean seemed interested in having her spill dirty Slytherin secrets and were disappointed when she informed them she knew none. Ginny Weasley introduced Sarah to her group of friends one day after art class and Sarah was happy to finally meet some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and not have them back away in dislike.

Her life at Hogwarts was much improved and Sarah was finally feeling a measure of happiness.

* * *

"He's staring at you again," muttered Ginny while she buttered her scone. Glancing over her shoulder at the Slytherin table, Sarah saw Draco Malfoy watching her with a scowl. His pale eyes met her dark ones and it was a long moment before she saw him snort and turn away.

"He doesn't like the fact that I sit over here with you guys. He'd much rather I be over at the House table," Sarah explained returning to her breakfast, "even if it's with Blaise and his friends. More acceptable that way, I guess. Though he doesn't really like me being friendly with Blaise, either."

"He doesn't like you, but wants you to sit at the Slytherin table anyway because he doesn't want you sitting with Gryffindor," muttered Ron shaking his head. "I don't know how you put up with that bloody prat."

Sarah heaved a heavy, dramatic sigh. "Day by day, Ronald. Day…by… day." The redhead lobbed a biscuit at her which bounced off her shoulder and landed on her plate. Sarah laughed and reached for the marmalade.

She was half-listening to a heated conversation between the Gryffindor Quidditch players about the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff when she heard a noise that made the hair all along her body stand up and take note. _Schhhhhk_. It was low and continuous and very familiar. It was a noise she'd heard before, one that always drew her attention no matter what she was doing. It sounded like glass on stone. Rolling glass on stone.

Twisting in her seat and leaning around Hermione, Sarah was able to see what was creating the sound. Traversing the stone floor, dodging students' hands and swerving around feet and bags, a round object was making its way across the room. Small, perfectly round and clear, it deftly avoided Harry's fingers as he bent to grab it and instead bounced onto the bench next to Ginny and then to the tabletop where it rolled to a stop by Sarah's breakfast plate.

She frowned and felt a headache forming.

"What is it, Sarah?" asked Lavender a couple seats down.

"A Remembrall?" guessed Neville with a frown. "I have one of those…somewhere."

"No," said Sarah, sampling the words on her tongue and inwardly laughing. "It's a crystal, nothing more." Oh, how bittersweet that tasted! "But if I turn it this way…." Dubious and almost fearful, she turned the orb in her hand—and didn't see anything. It remained clear and empty, reflecting the early morning light and the curious faces of her friends. She was slightly disappointed. "Just a crystal."

Making a noise in her throat, she shrugged and steadied the orb on the wooden surface to see what (if anything) would happen. It shifted immediately, rolling around platters and cups to the edge of the table and dropped to the floor with soft _tinking_ noises. Sarah watched it circle her feet a couple times then move into the isle between the tables. Where it seemed to wait.

_It wants me to follow it,_ she realized vaguely. _How irritating. _She rolled her eyes and heaved an aggrieved sigh in the hopes that a certain someone would see and feel annoyed. Gathering her newspaper and stuffing it into her book bag, she took leave of her friends.

"I have to go somewhere, you guys. I'll see you later."

"Anything wrong, Sarah?" asked Seamus who was trying to nudge the sphere with his toe, but the crystal merely swerved out of the way.

"No, no. I think I just need to be somewhere right now, that's all. I'll see you in class." She followed the crystal out of the hall.

The crystal zipped down corridors, leading her on a merry chase; it paused for her to open doors, and waited for staircases to stop moving. When she rounded a corner and saw the approaching statue of the thirteen-fingered witch of Derbyshire, she had a good idea of where the little crystal was rolling. Behind the statue and through the open door, Sarah was hit with a blast of sunshine and the crisp scent of dying summer. Squinting against the sudden light, she saw the lean figure of Goblin King sitting on the far side of the terrace balcony, beyond the trellises and potted plants, his back to her and his feet dangling toward the ground.

Sarah walked up to him, pausing a short distance away. The crystal was motionless at her feet.

Since that day a few weeks ago when she had come out here in the rain and been a soggy, moping mess, this was the only time she had seen him appear in person at Hogwarts; he usually kept their conversations confined to when she slept. They would occur in secluded locales she did not recognize and they would speak about her classes or current events. Occasionally they would appear in a town or village somewhere (always a Wizarding community) and Sarah would be quietly amused at some quirk or other she would observe in him—like his caffeine addiction and penchant for live music.

One night, they'd sat with a hundred other couples in the exquisite gardens of Warrick House and listened to an all-night special engagement concert by several different performers. They'd wandered out of a thick wood on the distant edge of the estate just as the sun was setting and crossed an immaculately manicured lawn, joining other couples out for an evening stroll. When they reached the House, the moon was high and candles were being lit and sent floating across the grounds to lure in any straggling guests. He'd pulled out her chair for her when they found their table and Sarah stubbornly ignored the little voice in her head which cheerfully pointed out that the whole affair felt rather like a date.

That next morning, there had been a small article on the gala in the _Daily Prophet_; part of the entertainment section. There had been one photo of the crowd, of a few tables next to the stage where the siblings Gideon, Galahad, and Galadriel Goodner had been singing. The picture showed the table where she and Jareth had sat (as evidenced by its position to the stage and the unique, tap dancing orchid centerpiece that had been on display) and it worried Sarah somewhat that their table was occupied by another couple; a little old witch and wizard, the gentleman with an ear trumpet.

She had been there, she knew she had. She remembered the performers and the songs they sang. She had watched Jareth as he sat with his eyes closed, relaxed and languid, listening in obvious pleasure to the sounds of the human voice and the exquisite beauty of mandolin and violin. She remembered distinctly the feeling of hazy heat and the lull of song. It was also on that spectacular evening that Sarah realized she liked the Goblin King.

It happened that night, she was sure of that, but when exactly—that was the mystery. She would have thought there would have been a great epiphany involved, a light bulb (or perhaps a candle flame) flaring over her head as she came to the realization. But no, no bright light or the shifting of the universe as everything came into alignment—just the quiet acceptance that yes, Jareth was an interesting individual and yes, she did enjoy spending time with him. When he wasn't purposefully trying to annoy her, he could be quite pleasing.

Her small bit of trust had turned into something a bit more.

Uncomfortable with her thoughts, Sarah turned her mind around to the present and the sight of the Goblin King before her. Or the back of him, anyway. "Was there anything in particular you wanted?" she asked.

"No," he replied, not turning to face her. His head was tilted slightly and the wind was playing with the wild lengths of his hair. The shirt he wore was a deep blue that seemed to change tints whenever he shifted.

"Well, what are you doing here, then?"

"Enjoying the scenery." She caught the smile in his voice and decided that he was in one of his moods. Sarah shook her head at the thought of a man who changed humors as quickly as the Goblin King did. Of course, he wasn't really a man, not as she knew them. He wasn't human—he was male. What exactly he _was_, she didn't know.

She let her bag drop to the ground as she reached for the crystal at her feet. It was cool and cradled against her palm in the nicest way. Stepping beneath a garden arch, she made her way to the balcony where Jareth sat. Turning her back to the open grounds of Hogwarts, she leaned against the railing and held out the crystal to him. "Here."

His eyes slid briefly to her hand and the object on it before returning to their survey of the land. Lowering her arm, Sarah glanced briefly behind her and spied a practice game of Quidditch being played on the far-off pitch. She couldn't tell which team it was.

"That crystal," he spoke, "is yours to keep."

"Oh?" She licked her lips and rolled the orb between her hands. The words came out soft and without her consent, gently mocking. "A gift?"

"Indeed," was his bland reply, having missed or chosen to ignore her jibe. "Set it rolling and it will take you wherever or to whomever you desire, within a reasonable distance, of course."

"That's all?"

"Well, should it start traveling on its own, I'd suggest you follow where it leads."

"You interrupted my breakfast to tell me this?" Her voice was cross as she struggled to remove her school robe and set it on the balustrade beside her, the crystal placed securely on the folds of cloth. "Couldn't this conversation have waited until tonight?"

His mouth pursed in what she was sure was annoyance and Sarah hid her smile. "For the most part, your dreams shall now once again be your own."

"For the most part?" she repeated.

He flicked a strand of blond hair away from his eyes and flashed a sharp grin. "Surely you don't enjoy spending _all_ your time in this school? I'd have thought you would take pleasure in the occasional night away."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that," she began, changing the subject with a slight frown. "The concert we went to, there was an article about it in the newspaper except that we weren't in a picture when we should have been."

"You recall the event—the musicians, their songs, the night breeze that drifted through your hair and brought the scent of autumn?"

"Yes."

"Then it was real. Although a photograph might indicate otherwise, we were there."

She rolled her eyes at his blasé declaration of such an impossible feat. "You seem to change the rules of reality fairly often," she observed with a slight scowl.

"No more so than you," came his swift reply. Jareth leaned down until his face was inches from her own, his strange eyes searching hers. "Perhaps you should reconsider your definition of 'reality'."

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, confused and a little startled by his close proximity. Sarah felt his warm breath drift lightly over her cheek, sending shivers tingling down her spine. His eyes, so eerily beautiful with their unusual markings and dissimilar pupils, were heavy with the power she always felt when he was around. He cocked his head to the side as he considered her, some of his pale hair hiding his expression and breaking the pull of his gaze.

"Things change," was the off-hand response as he drew back, "whether we will them or no."

Glancing nervously away, she busied her hands with smoothing her skirt and tucking wayward hair behind an ear. "Yes, you're right," she managed after a moment, "but when I change something, it's not the fundamental laws of the universe."

He shot her an amused look. "So sure about that, Sarah?" he asked, an unknown humor lacing his voice.

"I…had been," was her slow reply as she turned, leaning her elbows on the railing. The view before her was particularly beautiful, the early morning sun creating a wash of golden light over the trees and fields. After a moment of silence, she curved her neck to study him. "Are you suggesting otherwise?"

"I am _encouraging_ you not to become mired in the beliefs and ways of humanity—they know nothing about the world in which they live." His strange eyes caught hers and despite the sun shining keenly on her and the hothouse spell creating a steady blanket of heat, she shivered with sudden cold. "You are a dreamer, Sarah," he stated finally. "A rare enough occurrence in this modern world of man. Don't let them destroy you."

His face was so solemn it took her by surprise. Usually there was an animation to his countenance; a smirk or upraised eyebrow indicative of amusement, a crease on his forehead when he was displeased. The seriousness he was trying to convey had wiped his face and left him looking worn and tired—weighed down by something she couldn't name or understand.

"I've always been a dreamer," she tried to assure him with a quirky smile. "I don't think that's going to change anytime soon." She made a wide, sweeping gesture with her hand, "I'm in a castle learning magic and having a conversation with the Goblin King. This isn't exactly the stuff of your everyday average, humdrum life."

"Perhaps not—but months, years from now, when this _will_ be your everyday average, humdrum life, of what will you dream then?"

"Something new, I guess. They change all the time." Sarah laughed quietly as she thought back a few short years. She'd wanted everything, demanding the role of both the damsel-in-distress and the heroine, never caring the cost of her actions. She got her whirlwind adventure—but lost some of herself in the process. Her old dreams transformed, grew into something new over time. And she'd changed with them.

"My dreams," she murmured thoughtfully, staring down at her hands, "I have so many. Sometimes they're here and gone before I really got a chance to know what they were."

"Yes," he agreed in a noncommittal voice. "You are the dreaming kind."

"That's a funny way of putting it," she commented, mulling over the words. Sarah looked up at him, eyes wide at a stray thought. "Is that what you meant, from before? When you said Toby and I had become like you? That…you're a dreamer?"

His serious look turned sly and there was a definite upturn at the corner of his mouth. "Not exactly," was his only reply.

"Well," she asked, her curiosity roused, "what are you? You're not human, I'm pretty sure of that."

Jareth threw back his head and laughed; honest delight heavy in the tone. She could not remember ever hearing him so openly amused. Sarah found she liked the sound of his laughter—even if it was at her expense. "No. I am not human," he agreed as his chuckles quieted.

"So…" she prompted, waving a hand for him to continue.

His voice was honey-smooth and thick with mirth. "I? I am merely a figment of your imagination."

"I was being serious," she groused, pushing away from the banister.

"So you were," he agreed, looking at her over his shoulder. A sharp grin was on his face and she knew his teasing humor had returned.

Irritated, she gathered up her school robe, slipping the crystal into a pocket. "I hate it when you do this. Don't think I hadn't noticed that you're not really answering my questions," she declared, wagging a finger in his face. "We've spent this entire time having a run-around conversation that hardly made sense because you're trying to annoy me by being secretive."

His grin turned positively wicked as he again laughed. "Yes," he agreed. Jareth pushed himself off the balcony and, as Sarah watched, became the tawny owl and flew across the grounds.

* * *

Oh, and if any of you are wondering about the trio of G-named singers, they're based loosely around the group Nickel Creek. I was listening to their song _Sweet Afton_ while writing that part.

* * *


	10. The Origin of Almost Everything

Author's Note—

**10/6/06**

**Okay. So, I've done it again. I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round. **

**Oh wait, I did change this chapter. A lot. I've overhauled this part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes. **

Disclaimer—Must I say this again? They're not mine. They never will be.

* * *

Chapter Ten—The Origin of…Almost Everything

Sarah quickly realized that her 'gift' from Jareth was not all it seemed. Of course it wasn't.

Carrying around a glass orb in her pocket had proved awkward and it took Sarah a few days to decide what to do with it. Inspired by the many summers spent wandering Renaissance Festivals back home, she shrunk the crystal to the size of a marble and transfigured a twig into a necklace with a small metal claw to hold the jewel. She wore her new accessory at all times. When she wanted to find someone or something, she plucked the crystal from its holder and rolled it down the hall, the orb returning to regular size as it careened around corridors and across school grounds.

Sarah enjoyed being able to locate her misplaced shoe or that kid from her class who had borrowed her notes and promised to return them yesterday. She found the perfect spot for watching the rain and reading a book to be a plush window-seat on the sixth floor, east side of the castle hidden behind a tapestry so that most people didn't even know it was there.

Sometimes, she would use her crystal to find the Goblin King if he was around, just for a chat, or to pester him about her friends from the Underground. She _was_ concerned about Hoggle, Ludo, and Didymus, but she also secretly enjoyed watching Jareth's face as he got annoyed with her and subsequently disappeared, grumbling about stubborn chits who didn't know when to let well enough alone. More than once, when she'd wanted to talk with him, the crystal had refused her search and rolled back to where she stood, bouncing from the floor up to her hand. It had irritated Sarah to realize she was disappointed when Jareth wasn't around.

Although she might not have been able to locate him every time, when Jareth wanted her, the necklace would start trying to tug her in the direction she was meant to go and the crystal eventually glowed a blinding, white light if she waited too long to answer the summons.

To her silent amusement, he usually sent for her several times a week.

A terrace on the seventh floor, an abandoned classroom down in the dungeons, the bleachers on the Quidditch pitch or sometimes on the edge of the lake on the north side where the woods were safe and riddled with hiking trails were the places the locater lead her between classes or after the evening meal. Her friends commented on her newfound habit of wandering off after a rolling crystal, but Sarah only smiled and said she'd see them later. Her encounters with Jareth were always private and if he sensed someone approaching, he would either change to the barn owl or disappear in a shower of light that dazzled her eyes. However, people did manage to see him, if only from a distance. Harry asked her one night, while a group of them were studying for a test, who the bloke was he had seen walking with her around the lake.

"He was no one I recognized," explained Harry.

"Oooh!" gasped Ginny from her end on the couch she and Harry were sharing. The group had taken over one of the many lounges in the school where students from different Houses could loaf about in comfort or have study sessions. The seventh-years were here for an exam they had in Herbology the next day and Ginny had come along because she and Dean were no longer dating…and Harry was dense. They were all supposed to be there to study and do homework, but Sarah and Neville were the only ones who actually seemed to be doing anything productive—Harry had out a Quidditch magazine and Ginny was flipping through an issue of _Teen Witch Weekly_. The room they were in was circular with a fireplace and a suit of armor on either side of the arched entranceway. There were several mismatched chairs scattered about as well as two couches and one large, round table that could easily seat ten people.

"Are you having an illicit romance, Sarah?" asked the girl with a grin. Harry made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough while Sarah felt her face turning red enough to rival a tomato.

"No! No way!" she gasped after a few false starts. The mere thought was ludicrous. _"Ginny!"_

"What?" the younger girl laughed, sitting up abruptly, her magazine sliding to the floor. "If he's not a student that means he's either a teacher or he's not supposed to be on school grounds. Therefore, illicit!"

"What are you on about, Ginny?" asked a voice from the archway. Ron and Hermione entered the room, their badges reflecting brightly in the firelight. Thrusting himself into a chair, Ron dropped his bag onto the floor, the contents spilling out and making a mess of quills, papers and the crumbly remains of some unidentifiable food.

"Harry, you can't possibly know everyone at Hogwarts," Sarah protested, hoping logic and reason would help her declarations of innocence.

"No, but I'm pretty sure I know the older students by sight and I don't ever remember seeing him before."

"Ginny thinks Sarah has a secret boyfriend she's been meeting all over the castle," explained Neville helpfully to Ron's question. Sarah shot the boy a dirty look and enjoyed his startled recoil immensely.

She managed to hiss out, "He's not my _boyfriend_," before slapping a hand over her mouth.

"So, there is someone, then," Ginny practically crowed in delight. The redhead leapt from her seat and came to table where the excitement seemed to be unfolding. "Who is he?" She flopped into one of the chairs between Hermione and Neville, staring expectantly at Sarah.

"What's he look like?" Ron asked as he eyed the large pile of materials Hermione laid out on the table. "Does he have red hair, like me? Lots of girls find red hair dashing."

"Really? Is that why you've had so many girlfriends, Ron?" Ginny questioned in a sly tone. "I know I can't keep track of them anymore."

"I'm just choosy about who I snog, s'all, unlike _some people _I know," he wadded up a piece of parchment and threw it at his sister. Ginny ducked the missile and laughed at her brother.

"Quit teasing, Ron. He has blond hair, you know that," said the Head Girl abruptly. Hermione's voice was just loud enough to cut across the banter and bring the attention back to Sarah—exactly where she didn't want it.

"Oh, so you've seen him, then?" asked Harry, leaving the couch to pull out a chair at the table next to Hermione.

"No, we haven't, actually."

"Well," ventured Neville when it became apparent that Hermione was waiting for someone to ask the question, "then how do you know what he looks like?"

Ron and Hermione shared a _look_ across the table and Sarah groaned.

"We had our weekly staff meeting an hour ago. Even with the extra security the Ministry placed around Hogwarts, with times being what they are, we've been told to keep watch for anything strange and out of the ordinary—and, well, your name came up, Sarah."

Feeling a mix of fear and embarrassment curdle in her stomach, she could only stare at Hermione. "What about me?" she finally asked.

"For starters, Davina Goshawk said she heard voices coming from a classroom late last Wednesday, but when she opened the door, you were the only one there."

The sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect had indeed interrupted them one evening. It had been storming heavily outside that night as the rolling crystal drew her from the library down to an empty classroom by the dungeons. Jareth had been waiting for her. A house-elf had delivered dinner shortly after she'd entered the room and before digging in Sarah had seen the little creature glance at the Goblin King from the corner of its (her?) wide eyes. Jareth hadn't paid any attention to the elf.

He was behind the teacher's desk, booted feet propped up and chair tipped back at a dangerous angle. He'd been rolling a crystal lazily from one gloved hand to another, a trick that never ceased to intrigue her, and talking about how the Ministry had arrested five goblins the previous week on trumped-up criminal charges. They were being held for questioning and weren't expected to be released anytime soon. Bodrig the Boss-Eyed, spokesgoblin for the Brotherhood of Goblins, was outraged at such blatant goblin prejudice from the Ministry and was calling for a gathering of support against the obvious tyranny. The wizard head of the Goblin Liaison Office, Dirk Cresswell, was having a difficult time with placating the goblin community and of trying to convince the Ministry that the goblins were not being recruited _en masse_ to work for Voldemort.

"What sort of charges?" she'd asked from where she sat on a school desk at the front of the room, legs crossed and skirt modestly tucked down, sketch pad and pencil in hand. If Jareth was going to so obligingly sit there for her, she was going to draw him.

"Jaywalking."

She'd looked at him when she realized he was serious. "Is that possible in a community that doesn't use cars?"

He'd opened his mouth to answer but his face had twisted into a scowl and he'd glared at the door before suddenly disappearing. Davina had peered inside just as Jareth's tilted chair toppled to the floor.

The prefect had asked her what she was doing in the classroom with a meal for two and seemed suspicious about the answers she'd received. Apparently Sarah had annoyed the girl just enough that the sixth-year had felt the need to mention the incident at a meeting.

"Davina wasn't the only one to report something about you, Sarah. That crystal of yours has a very strong location charm on it. Several people have noticed you following it around campus."

"Is it illegal now to be in an empty classroom?" Sarah demanded. "I wasn't doing anything wrong and this is a huge castle, easy to get lost in. So what if I'm using a charm to help me find things? This_ is_ a school of magic."

"She didn't mean it like that, Sarah," Ginny tried to placate.

"I wasn't accusing you of anything, Sarah, not at all. I'm just telling you what we discussed at the meeting," Hermione explained. "Things are dodgy right now and people are jumping at anything unusual. Filch and two other staff members reported seeing you with someone they could never identify because he seemed to disappear before they got a good look at him. People got concerned."

"They don't need to be, I'm not up to anything," Sarah muttered to the tabletop. "Okay," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face, "so what else happened at this meeting?"

"Well, after everyone had said their piece, Professor Dumbledore announced that he was aware of your companion, had known about him since the beginning of the school term. The professor also said he appreciated our concern and vigilance but we needn't worry about you or whomever you are with. He told us all that we should focus our attention elsewhere." Hermione paused and gave a little smile before continuing. "The other professors were rather put out that the headmaster had been keeping secrets. Professor McGonagall was particularly upset and demanded a private word with the headmaster when we left a few minutes ago."

Sarah stared dumbfounded at the Head Girl who was flipping through pages in the Herbology textbook with seeming indifference to what she had just announced. Ron commented into the heavy silence, "So basically, Dumbledore's given you permission to snog in the empty classrooms. You have all the luck, Sarah."

Ignoring the sudden laughter, Sarah reached across the table and flicked the boy on his arm, earning a very satisfying yelp. "We don't _snog,_" she declared, "and we don't kiss or make out or anything like that."

"But, what _are_ you doing?" asked Harry. "Why are you sneaking someone onto school grounds?"

"We just talk," was her cautious explanation. "Professor Dumbledore knows him and knew he was around, so I don't consider it 'sneaking.' He…my friend just wishes to avoid people."

Harry frowned but let the matter drop.

"So. You're having an illicit romance." Ginny said abruptly, tapping the table to draw Sarah's attention. "Is he cute?"

"Fairly attractive," Sarah admitted without thinking, immediately feeling her face flush. She hoped that wherever he was, Jareth was not at this very moment listening in on the conversation. He'd never let her live it down. Groaning, she slumped in her chair and laid her forehead on the table. Her voice was muffled and the others strained to hear. "Whatever our relationship is Ginny, it's not romantic in the least little way."

"Who is he, Sarah?" asked Neville. "Is he anyone we know?"

"No. No. I wouldn't see how. I mean, he's not a student or anything."

"Sarah, you do realize how dangerous it is to sneak someone onto school grounds, don't you? Especially now with Death Eaters around and Voldemort back in power?" A few gasps followed Hermione's words which she ignored. "Your friend could be put under the Imperious Curse or someone could be impersonating _him_ using Polyjuice Potion. How well do you even know him?"

"Hey," said Sarah, mouth still pressed against the smooth wood, one hand coming up to wave in the air and punctuate certain words, "he comes and goes as he pleases, I have no control over that." She lifted her face, forehead slightly pink, and stretched her arms out on the table, cheek resting on her shoulder. She stared across books and papers, not really seeing any of them. "You don't have to worry about him, Hermione," she said finally, firmly. "He can take care of himself. He's not the enemy."

"Well, it certainly sounds like you fancy the fellow," commented Ron.

"Ginny, pinch him."

Leaning across the empty space between them, Ginny reached for her brother who hastily tipped his seat back on two legs to avoid her and ended up falling backward to the floor with a muttered oath. Ginny laughed hysterically while Neville tried to help sort Ron from his chair. Despite the levity of the moment, Sarah could feel Harry and Hermione studying her, their gazes thoughtful. She gave the two of them what she hoped was a thoroughly trustworthy smile and started gathering her things.

"Listen guys," she said, "I need to get going. I have to go…think over some things. I'll see you tomorrow." She slung her bag over her shoulder and exited to chorused calls of goodnight.

When she judged the distance far enough from the others, she fished for the necklace in her clothing and pulled it out. Twisting the crystal from the metal claw, she concentrated for a second on who she wanted to speak with (hoping he was lurking somewhere on campus) and tossed the small orb down the hall. The crystal bounced and rolled and grew to its normal size, moving in an unerring line along the corridor and around a corner.

Trailing after the little crystal, Sarah allowed her mind to mull over the conversation with the Gryffindors. With the surprise information Hermione had sprung on her, Sarah knew, just _knew_, that this was going to make her paranoid. She understood that the students were monitored, it's what teachers did. However, despite Professor Dumbledore's vote of confidence, she'd been labeled a security hazard and that meant her every move was going to be watched and questioned and mistrusted by the staff; and not just the ones who had been suspicious before. No, now it was going to be _everyone_—the faculty, the staff, the prefects, and she just knew this was going to get out to the other students as well. The Hogwarts gossip network was terribly efficient.

Sarah realized Jareth had his reasons for doing…whatever it was he was doing. Hanging around the school, keeping an eye on her and whatnot. She'd never stopped to wonder, though, why Professor Dumbledore was allowing Jareth to so flagrantly ignore school rules—and she had no doubt the professor was well aware of the Goblin King's movement about the castle. But now, their secret meetings were no longer secret and Sarah fretted over what troubles that could cause. Why _were_ they secret? Jareth was going to a lot of trouble to avoid people about the castle just so he could talk with her. If it was merely conversation he wanted, that could happen with far less hassle in her dreams.

She hoped it wouldn't go back to that; Sarah enjoyed their spontaneous get-togethers. She was learning another side to the Goblin King—he was never all that he seemed. He could be cruel and cutting one minute and have her laughing at his sly humor the next. Though the first time she'd admitted it was just a few moments ago and it had been a spur-of-the-moment declaration, he was her _friend_. A capricious, slightly disconcerting friend who switched moods with frightening ease —but a friend nonetheless.

A couple students she passed in the corridors looked at the roaming crystal curiously and one even went so far as to try and stop it with his foot, but the little sphere swerved around the boy and Sarah hid a smile as she walked by the confused fourth-year. She followed the crystal up several staircases to the top of the largest tower where the Owlery was located.

Hundreds of owls, all types and colors, were housed in the giant room. At the moment, there were only fifty or so present, the others out hunting for the night. It was amid a flurry of feathers and bird droppings that she found him, lounging in a vast windowsill, one leg propped up, the other trailing down the outside of the castle, and an almost pensive air about him. He was stroking the breast feathers of a small, brown owl that was obligingly perched on his gloved arm, its eyes half-lidded and clearly enjoying the attention.

"Jareth?" she questioned softly, suddenly unsure of her welcome when he seemed so immersed in thought. His eyes were shut and he didn't bother to look in her direction but she saw a brow rise and he waved his free hand in a vague indication that she should join him. Casting a few scourging charms to get rid of as much icky stuff as possible, she set her bag down and settled onto the ledge.

She was a little nervous in her seat—while the sill was more than wide enough for her to sit comfortably, the lack of glass and the ground so very far away discomfited her. It was also a very open place for them to meet. Granted, she had been the one to go searching for him, but always before he had met her in a less open area where there would be a smaller chance of someone suddenly walking in on them.

There was a long moment of companionable silence as Sarah studied him, enjoying the languid elegance in his posture, the familiar feeling of his tightly reigned power that drifted along her skin, forgetting why she had wanted to speak with him. When he finally opened his eyes and focused on her, she caught her breath, sitting upright in shock. No longer were his eyes beautiful and changeling and so oddly enticing, constantly heavy with something she couldn't define or explain; now they were black—black as night, black as pitch, dark as metal and just as cold. She trembled where she sat and could not say why.

"Something wrong?" he asked in a voice that already knew the answer.

"Your _eyes_," she managed at last, unable to tear her gaze from him. "Jareth, w-what happened?"

Those threatening orbs drifted down to the owl and she felt infinitely better, no longer teetering on the edge of a great chasm fearing a push from behind and an endless fall into darkness. She felt cold stone beneath her fingers and glanced down to find her hands grasping at the sill, the press of rock against her skin helping focus her chaotic thoughts. "Someone," he began, his low voice startling her, "is about to wish away some unfortunate soul. My Labyrinth is changing," he paused, "and I change with it."

"But…only your eyes are different."

"This young man anticipates terror—not seduction."

Flushing at the low insinuation, she noted the smirk that found its way upon his thin lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I could take whatever mangled, frightful form this child sees as a Goblin King, and it would not make a great deal of difference in the end. It is the eyes wherein the real horror lies."

"Then, you generally look the same for the people who call on you," Sarah mused hesitantly, easing back against the window embrasure. She picked at a small bit of stone with a fingernail as she thought over the situation and tried not to look at him. "And you know before a person makes their wish?" She answered her own question in a flash of belated insight, "Well, of course! The owl in the park, when I was reciting my lines that day. You were _waiting_ for me to say the words, weren't you?"

"Yes." His voice was slow and contemplative as he explained, his hand still stroking the bird. "Most of those who make their wish think about it long before they actually say it. When someone voices their right words, I know all about them. Their dreams, desires, weaknesses, fears."

"So, the Labyrinth changes for each person? And so do you?" His nodded affirmation made her bold. She'd never asked before, but she'd always wondered. "Why do you do it? Grant the wishes of angry children?"

"Sarah," her name flowed smoothly off his tongue and he made it sound exotic and foreign, as if the plain, simple utterance was something far more than a mere word, "that is what I do. My purpose in life. My reason for being." His eyes rolled to meet hers and his gaze was cold and dangerous and made her want to cry and shrink away in dread because he was every nightmare she'd ever had, every bad thought, every cruel possibility that could ever happen, given a physical form to frighten her…hurt her….

Two owls flew between them, launching from their perches for the crisp autumn air and the joys of nighttime hunting. The flurry of wings broke the intense eye-contact and Sarah came back to herself with a shuddering breath. Ducking her head, she wiped away the tears slipping down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking and four painful crescents were quickly bruising on each palm. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her robes about her and huddled into the curved arch of the window.

She heard the soft sounds of his movement, felt the displacement of air as the small owl flew on silent wings to another perch. She watched from beneath lowered lashes as he knelt in front of her, hands grasping the ledge on both sides of her shaking legs, his face suddenly so close to her own. The pale glow of moonlight fell upon his features like a cloak, turning him into a shining being of half-light and shadows. He leaned over her tense form, his body a line of power and heat held tantalizingly just above her own, his pale hair mixing with her dark as he whispered into her ear, "I keep the balance."

The almost-caress of his lips against her skin and his quiet murmur, more warm breath than sound, made her flinch. He chuckled softly at her reaction, the intimacy of their positions spreading goosebumps across her flesh and sending a flush to her cheeks. She jumped when she felt a gloved hand touch upon her cheek. His thumb trailed along her jaw in a gentle movement that sent her emotions into a confused flurry. The gesture, so tender, did nothing to calm her nerves as the fear that had been coursing through her suddenly took a turn toward sharp desire. That feeling, the heady rush of pleasure that swept through and tightened things low in her body, shocked her from her frozen state.

Sarah scrambled out of her seat, batting his hand away from her and nearly knocking him backward in her panic. She wrapped her arms tightly about herself and crossed the Owlery, aiming for another window opening, one that looked upon a courtyard of overgrown ivy and weather-beaten, ghostly statuary, acutely aware of Jareth's disquieting gaze tracking her movement. He was terrible in his intensity and it took nearly everything she had not to flee the room.

She knew him as seductive, sometimes frightening and casually cruel—that was how she expected a Goblin King to be. Tonight, moments ago, there had been a hint at a more violent nature. Something lurked beneath that thin veneer of human form, far more dangerous and merciless than she could understand. She _knew_ he wasn't human, not in that way, but she always forgot he wasn't bound by the same morals and strictures as mankind; didn't play by their Rules. She foolishly expected him to, and when he didn't, it always caught her off guard.

And this, this…. He'd toyed with her before, taunted and teased her in the Labyrinth, flaunted a sexuality she hadn't truly understood and didn't know how to respond to. But now, she comprehended his actions all too well, and the ease with which he'd rolled her, flipped her with one simple touch from fear to arousal, scared her more than anything else.

He was playing with her again, some disturbing game of cat and mouse, trying to see how far he could push her before she would flee from him or fight back. Whether she would go…or stay. Well, she wouldn't run, had never run—not from him.

Sarah took deep breaths to calm the beating of her heart, one hand pressing weakly against the damp stone of the wall and her forehead coming to rest just beside it. Twisting slightly, she peered from underneath the heavy curtain of her hair at the night sky and realized in some distant corner of her mind that the stars on this side of the world were not where she had expected them to be. They were in the wrong spot, a different part of the heavens. She'd traveled so far….

When she was sure her voice wouldn't shake, Sarah asked, "The balance of what?"

"Your friend Hermione is a Muggle-born witch, correct?"

Her head jerked back to him at the non sequitur and she was relieved to find him back to lounging on his side of the window. The little brown owl was just returning to its place on Jareth's arm and Sarah had to quash a sudden confusing emotion as she saw the Goblin King's gloved hand resume stroking the tiny creature. "I think so, yes. Why?"

"Hermione and I have met before, though she would not remember me. When she was young, a neighbor girl was watching her for an afternoon. This neighbor was a very dreamy girl who had been having a bad week and Hermione was a bossy little urchin who refused to do as the sitter demanded. The aggrieved teenager, having had enough, called upon me and wished her young charge into my care. The girl did not make it through my Labyrinth.

"Hermione spent her thirteen hours in my library and emerged only once to ask if she could have supper and if she was expected to use a chamber pot." Jareth stopped his speech and was quiet, his lips turning into something that might have been a smile. "In the end, your friend went home a witch and the sitter has spent the rest of her life with the disquieting feeling that there is something more to the world and she used to know what, exactly, it was."

Sarah blinked at him and found herself wandering back to his side of the room, determinedly quashing her nervousness. "So, you don't _keep_ the children wished away?"

"No," he admitted.

Her mouth twisted briefly as she spat out a disgruntled, "Unbelievable!" She feared for a quick moment that he'd look at her and she would fall into that gaze again and be lost to madness, but he kept his eyes lowered and scowled instead at the owl on his arm. How the little creature was able to withstand his horrible gaze, she could only guess. The bird swiveled its head to give her a fierce look from where it huddled against Jareth's chest. Sarah glared back at it before returning her ire to the Goblin King. "I went through all the worry about Toby for nothing? You incredible jerk!"

"Think about what I said, idiot girl! The sitter went home a _shell_. Something less than she had been. As punishment for failing the Labyrinth she lost her belief, her dreams, her passion for life and everything about her that made her special."

"They were passed on to Hermione instead?"

"One could look at it that way."

Arms folded across her chest, she perched again in the windowsill, not as comfortably as before but determined not to show the extent of her unease. "Do people from wizard families call you?"

"In smaller numbers than Muggles, but yes. Those raised among magic know better than to make foolish requests. They know that there are things _out_ _there_ that cannot be seen or weighed or measured. Things that listen to the whispered wishes made in the secret hearts of dreamers."

"What happens to them?"

"The magical individuals who wish away someone and fail the Labyrinth lose their magic. Squibs, I believe they're called. As punishment for failing, they know about magic, but must forever wonder why they have none."

"What about the people who win? Professor Dumbledore said I wasn't the only one to have solved it."

"Surely you didn't think yourself_ so_ supremely talented as to have been singularly successful?" he mocked, the sly comment slipping out and reminding her of with whom she was speaking.

Sarah made a face at him, knowing he couldn't see it. "Well, no," she admitted, often having thought about it during the years after her adventure. "I mean, honestly, if I did it, then there had to have been people before me who solved it. I can't have been the first one."

"No, indeed. There have been dozens before you, hundreds perhaps, during the time I've done this."

"How long has that been?"

"Since the beginning."

"_Of time?"_

"Of wizards," he answered, his sharp tone making her feel foolish.

"Well," she shot back defensively, "how was I to know? You said you weren't born and that you've been doing it since 'the beginning.' What else was I supposed to assume?"

The brown owl that had been sitting so still on Jareth's arm suddenly gave a whole-body shake, its feathers puffing up and the eyes darting to look about. Sarah thought someone must have entered the Owlery and glanced sharply at the doorway, but it was only the two of them and some birds. The creature flapped its wings briefly and caught Jareth with a stare. Sarah was amused when she realized that the two were having some sort of private conversation. It figured.

Jareth stretched his arm out and helped launch the owl into the sky, its small form quickly swallowed by the night. His extended hand pulled a crystal from nowhere and he studied it briefly then tossed it up with a flick of the wrist. The orb hung suspended between them for an eternal second before tiny cracks marred the smooth surface and it fractured into a million fragments of light, the pieces falling harmlessly on both her and Jareth before disappearing. Sarah looked at him for an explanation, but the Goblin King was back to staring at the quiet world outside.

"What happens to the winners?" she repeated, ignoring his behavior. She would have questioned the oddness of it, but everything about tonight was striking her as strange.

"You know the answer to that." The languor was back in his voice, the words sounding low and heavy as if he couldn't keep up the effort of emotion. "You keep your memories; return home a wiser and stronger individual having triumphed over your fears and refused the offer of your dreams in order to do what was right."

"Is it really that hard for most people?"

"The Labyrinth was not made to be won. How often do you face your fears, doubts, personal horrors made manifest—and conquer them? Given the chance of achieving your dreams, all your heart-felt desires come true, would you take it or turn it aside in favor of something far less enjoyable?"

He was right. She had been faced with those choices, and done what needed to be done. It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. It would have been so easy to give up in the Labyrinth and cry about her situation. She could have run away from the challenges, from the strange creatures that barred her way, could have sat outside the gates and blamed Toby and her father and Karen for everything.

She could have taken the crystal, seen her dreams, and forgotten the baby. Could have danced all night in the arms of the Goblin King. Having her dreams and fantasies so close she could touch them, feel them, hold them, and having to say no, had torn her heart to shreds until she bled from the inside and almost drowned in grief.

It was only with the passing of time that her heart had mended and she realized while_ that_ opportunity was gone, she could move on; she would make new dreams, new wishes. She was living out one of them right now.

Biting her lip, she nodded to acknowledge the truth of his words. "And tonight," she asked, trying to steer the subject back to safer grounds, "is it a Muggle child or one from a wizard family?"

"The boy is a Muggle." Jareth's head tilted back to rest against the curved stone. "He has been having trouble with a bully; the older boy torments him at school. This dreamer is afraid of heights and being abandoned. He desperately wants to be a professional fútbol player." The Goblin King's voice was vague and Sarah had the impression that he was only half-aware of what he was saying. "He'll make his wish before midnight and I suspect it will be his eldest brother whom I shall have as my guest."

"But, isn't it the bully he should wish away?"

"His schoolmate is the one causing the most trouble, but the brother is the one who will provoke the boy into finding his words."

She pursed her lips to refrain from pointing out that the situation was hardly fair to the brother and instead asked, "You can tell how it will happen?"

"Magic," he murmured, "can do a great many things. My Labyrinth is changing as we speak, adjusting to his specific needs."

"Needs," Sarah repeated. "I never would have phrased it like that."

"It's true, whether you believe or not."

"You know, people wish for things to happen all the time. Random thoughts pop into our heads or out of our mouths, and we might wish for cruel stuff or nice stuff, but most of the time those wishes don't come true. We never mean half of what we think or say because we don't expect it to actually happen."

"It takes a real belief to summon me, Sarah, not just the recitation of certain words." He shot her a look from the corner of his eye and she shuddered under that sharp bit of his gaze.

Gladly looking away, she studied the interior of the Owlery and nodded, "Fair enough."

Sarah sat with him until it was time for curfew and she had to leave.

* * *


	11. Face to Face to Face

**Author's Note—**

This story has been revised. I recommend reading my Bio before continuing.

**Disclaimer—**

Not Mine.

* * *

Chapter Eleven  
Face to Face to Face

She took the long way down to the dungeons. She wanted privacy to think and knew she wouldn't find that in the Slytherin common room. Seventh-years were allowed to stay out the latest but it was nearly eleven o'clock and her classmates would soon be forced to return, so seeking solitude in her dorm would be a wasted effort. Of the many things she missed about home, not having her own room was right at the top of the list.

The faded red runner with frayed gold edging that traversed the long, stone corridor was somehow the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen and Sarah studied it with single-minded resolve as her feet guided her down the well-worn path. She watched the tops of her shoes and swung her satchel side-to-side. Musing over the trials and tribulations of her life, she gave a half-hearted wave to one of the castle ghosts as he drifted across her path and through a wall; the pleasant gentleman bid her a fair evening. Rounding a corner she came to a sudden halt at the sight of the person down the far end of the corridor. Of all the people to run into late at night in an empty hallway….

She scowled at him and he scowled right back, coming to a stop in the middle of the passageway, effectively blocking her path. She briefly debated turning around and avoiding him altogether, but decided on taking the less-cowardly route. Sarah raised her chin in a move of determination and prepared to pass him, hoping he would go away and leave her be.

"Williams," he greeted.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged while trying to keep as far away from his still figure as she could. He took her by surprise when he reached out and grabbed her arm, long fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it gained her attention.

She jerked her arm down in a rapid pull and twist that broke his grasp and set him off balance. Eyeing him warily, she hastily backed away and dropped her bag, pulling her wand from a robe pocket. "Don't ever grab me, Malfoy," she warned. "What do you want?"

"A chat," he explained, crossing his arms. His grey eyes focused on her wand only briefly before turning back to her face. "I've been looking for the name of Williams in the wizard registries. Your family was not listed."

"So?" she asked, not understanding the problem. "Williams is a popular name. Maybe you were researching the wrong registry."

"I didn't. I had _every_ wizard registry checked," he paused and Sarah had the sense that he was drawing out the moment. She gave a theatrical gesture for him to continue, which caused his frown to turn into a full-out scowl. "You're a half-blood," he spat, voice dripping with disgust. "A filthy half-blood in Slytherin."

"Oh, for the love…" Sarah exclaimed, practically throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Do you honestly believe _everyone_ in Slytherin is a full-blood? This school is over a thousand years old, so I'm pretty sure there's been more than one half-blood during that time span."

Draco sneered at her. "Perhaps half-bloods are more common now," he grudgingly allowed, "but that doesn't mean you should be celebrating the fact."

"You don't seem to understand the very simple concept that I could care less about a person's blood status."

"_You_ may not, but someone in your family does."

"And what does that mean?"

"I had my people look into you and no one could find a thing."

"I was home-schooled. _On the other side of the world. _Of course there isn't going to be any information on me over here. And what sort of 'people' could you possibly have?"

"_Don't_, for even one moment, think the Malfoy name is tainted beyond repair," he snarled at her, his hands clenched into fists. "I have my own ties in the world, half-blood!" In a portrait to Sarah's left, an elderly woman in brown homespun jerked awake at the sudden noise, her knitting falling to the bottom of the picture frame and rolling out of sight.

"Look, Malfoy," she ground out, tightening her grip on her wand, upset with how the conversation was going, "I don't know anything about your family and honestly, I don't care about them. But I care about mine—why are you so concerned with me?"

"Because you're an unknown. The _Nivanos Es_ had no record of you until two years ago, when your schooling should have begun at age eleven. Because you have one of the highest guarded accounts in Gringotts and my contacts were turned away directly for enquiring about it. No one I've asked has any information on you. _Because_," he enunciated carefully, "you're protected wherever you go. Your father might be some lowly Muggle, but your mother is definitely a witch and one with very _high_ connections."

"So my family has connections," she said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his attempt at detective work. The less he knew about her family, the better. "We're of no consequence to you. Leave us alone."

"Who _are_ you?" he suddenly demanded, frustration clear upon his face. His eyes were hard and searching, as if he could will her to answer.

"What?" she exclaimed, caught off-guard by his question.

"Who do you work for?"

"I'm not…I don't have a _job_, you nitwit. I have no idea what you're raving about," Sarah declared, shaking her head at the absurd situation.

"You're not part of Potter's posse?" he asked, sounding disbelieving. "You're his friend; I'd have thought you'd be siding with those pathetic do-gooders and their altruistic little gang."

"_You. Are. Not. Making. Any. Sense,"_ she emphasized, hoping the boy would somehow become intelligent and understand what she was saying. His circular logic was frustrating and she was tired of his nonsense. "I'm not on anyone's side but my own, Malfoy. I'm Harry's friend, yes, but whatever feud you two have going on, leave me out of it and just leave me alone. In a few months when school is over, _I am going home. _Which, in case you hadn't understood before, is waaay," she used a few hand motions to indicate just how far a distance it was, "on the other side of an ocean. So, in all likelihood, and with any luck, I will never see you again. And I'll probably never see Harry again, either, so you really, really don't need to stick me in the middle of your guys' issues. You can hate each other all you like, from here to eternity, but don't make me a part of it, okay?"

He seemed to consider her words and Sarah had a moment of hope, but it was dashed to little pieces when he gave her that smirk she was coming to passionately hate. "Well, well," the boy drawled at last. "Unwilling to stand by your friends in a fight, Williams? Maybe you have some Slytherin in you after all."

She briefly considered stabbing him with her wand and yelling that he was being purposefully obtuse. "I'm no coward, Malfoy," Sarah tried to explain with what she felt was sainted patience. "Just because I choose not to fight, doesn't mean I won't. I just don't like getting pulled into someone else's mess."

He laughed a sharp, humorless sound that sent a frisson of unease clawing down her spine. "Well, you're in the thick of it now, Williams. By trying to stay out of everything, you brought yourself right into the middle." The look he gave her was amused knowing. "You caught the attention of certain people…."

"Yes," she interrupted, rolling her eyes, the tension in her shoulders suddenly flowing away. "I know all about that meeting, Hermione told me."

"Did she really?" was his murmured reply. He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a cocky grin. "You'd best watch yourself, Williams, because, never doubt, others are."

Sarah frowned at him as she suddenly recalled how long she'd been standing in the corridor arguing. "As much as I'm enjoying this conversation, Malfoy, I'm leaving now," she stated, but didn't move.

"Go on, then," he prodded. "It wouldn't do to be caught out of bed after curfew," his soft tone belied the innocuous statement.

"You're blocking my way," she declared, knowing it was a gross overstatement because the hallway was wide enough to allow the passage of several students arm-in-arm. Sarah was being overly-cautions because Draco was not the sort of person you wanted to turn your back to—_ever_.

He lifted a sardonic brow and made a show of looking about the empty corridor. "Perhaps not so naïve," was his observation as he turned his attention back to her, "just _nice. _That's not a good thing to be." His expression as he strolled past was of pure, condescending amusement. Sarah turned to watch him go, wanting to be sure he really left.

"There's nothing wrong with 'nice,' Malfoy," she called.

"Compassion is for the weak, Williams, and the strong destroy weak. Survival of the fittest, and all that," he lectured, strolling down the hallway, his back to her in an act that clearly proclaimed he didn't consider her a threat.

Sarah shook her head as he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Looking down at the wand in her hand, she gave a rueful laugh and shook her head again. "You're wrong," she told the empty passage, "it's my compassion that made me strong."

"Sarah?"

Her head snapped up at her name and a relieved smile appeared as she watched Harry jog toward her, wand in his hand and bookbag over his shoulder.

"I just saw Malfoy come from this direction. You okay? I heard voices and I know he's not the most pleasant person to meet late at night. Or ever, actually."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. He just felt the need to stop me and act all superior," she explained, putting away her wand and picking up her bag. "I didn't hear any curses fired from your direction so it must have just been me he was out to antagonize tonight."

"Ah, no," Harry explained, "he didn't see me actually. Malfoy isn't one to pass up a Harry-harassing opportunity."

"What is it between you two?" she asked as they headed toward a stairwell, the torches along the wall flaring to life at their approach and settling back to slumber as they passed.

Harry shrugged. "We've hated each other since first-year and every year the hatred grows. He's a stuck-up git and dislikes anyone who doesn't meet his ideals on what a wizard should be. 'Bout it, really."

"So blasé," she commented, making a wry face.

Harry shot her a tired grin. "I've had seven years around the prat and Draco Malfoy is a nasty piece of work and he will be that way until the day he dies. And when that happens, I'm going dance a jig on his grave, get roaring drunk, and do it all again before I sober up."

"Don't sound so happy at the thought," she admonished, a little startled at the vehemence in Harry's voice. "He _is_ a human being."

"You don't know him like I do, Sarah. For whatever reason, his treatment of you has been relatively mild. For as easy a target you make, being in the same House and all, you should be in the hospital wing at least every other day for curses gone awry and spelled object mishaps. When we realized that you were a decent person, in Slytherin, and on his official 'people to torment' list, we were pretty worried about you, but he doesn't seem to be trying all that hard."

Sarah shrugged and pushed her hair off her face. "Couldn't tell you what's going on in his head. But if you say he can be worse than he is, then I'm grateful for the reprieve. When things do happen, most of the time it's Pansy, and she hasn't really done anything truly horrible since I threatened going to the Headmaster about my missing homework. Mostly, it's just been stuff the House-elves could take care of. It's annoying, but I can deal with it."

They stopped at a forked passage; on the right a stairwell curving up in loose spiral toward the Hospital Wing and on the left a short collection of steps that entered a narrow hallway and the dungeons.

"This is where we part, I think, we're entering Slytherin territory. What were you doing over here, by the way? I thought your dorms were about a mile in the opposite direction."

"Ah, well, I felt like taking a walk tonight. Had my own things to think over."

"I see. Well, thanks for the company. You should get going, though. You're going to have to sprint if you want to get back to your rooms before curfew."

Harry gave her mischievous grin but no explanations as he slowly wandered back the way they had come.

* * *

Once back in the Slytherin Common Room, Sarah spotted Blaise doing homework in the corner near the painting of Salazar Slytherin, the founder of their House. She nodded to some fifth-years she had been making friendly with since she discovered that they both had aspirations of the stage and flopped into an armchair across from Blaise who greeted her with a slight smile.

"Ready for the exam?" he asked, holding up _Flora and Fauna to Beware_.

"Not in the slightest. I ran into Dear Draco on my way back here."

"Oh? You look relatively unscathed; must have gone well."

"Just his usual posturing," she explained, shucking off her robes and relaxing into the comfortable chair. "If the day actually comes where he gets the gumption to attack me to my face, I think I'll die of shock. Not that I want him to," she quickly amended, rapping three times on the lacquered wooden table next to her seat and accidentally waking up a _Monster Book of Monsters_ which immediately scuttled to the floor and tore into some poor third year's homework. The kid wrestled the tome into submission and pulled the tattered remains of his paper from razor teeth. Sarah winced and offered a weak apology.

"Don't ever underestimate him, Sarah," Blaise cautioned, drawing her attention back to the conversation. "He is certainly capable of hexing you, to your face or otherwise. Why he hasn't yet, I don't know, but consider yourself lucky—and watch your back."

"Only cowards attack from behind," she complained, sinking low into her chair and tracing patterns into the leather.

The contempt on Blaise's face was immediate and hurtful. "That's a very Gryffindor attitude you have there, Williams. If you can incapacitate your enemies without putting yourself in the line of fire, why shouldn't you? It saves trouble in the end."

"He's a seventeen-year-old _boy_ and we are not at war," she reminded him. "Besides…there's nothing wrong with being brave and honorable, Blaise."

"There's no room for maudlin sentiments in this House."

"Apparently," was her only comment.

"If you were to discontinue your association with those Gryffindors, it would give Malfoy less of a reason to bother you," he offered.

"No. No, Blaise. No, no, no, and no. They're my friends and I could care less about trying to get on Draco Malfoy's good side." Sarah sat up and looked at the black boy to make sure he realized how serious she was.

"So you insist. Though you have poor taste in the matter of including Granger in that circle. She is a Mudblood."

"And in some cultures it's the color of your skin people hate," she snapped, incensed at the boy's hateful remark. "Look Blaise, you're my friend, but when you put down my other friends, all you're doing is making me incredibly angry. You don't have to like them, you don't have to get along with them, but I expect you to have enough respect for my feelings that you won't do this when I'm around."

Sarah stood, and gathered her bag from the floor and her robe from where she'd been sitting on it. She was so furious with Blaise she could hardly see straight. "Oh," she exclaimed suddenly, turning around to face the boy who was watching her with a frown, "as you'll no doubt soon hear, I'm a half-blood. In Slytherin. A half-blood in Slytherin, can you deal with that?" She walked away from him without waiting for a response.

When she passed in front of the door to the Common Room, Sarah made a decision. There was no way, _no way_, she was staying in the dorm tonight. Pansy was probably on Prefect duty at the moment but she would be back and no doubt spoiling to pick a fight about the whole half-blood issue. After the confrontations with Malfoy and Blaise, Sarah was not in the mood to deal with anyone else.

She quickly ran to her dorm, grabbed a few essential items, and left the dungeons without looking back.

* * *


End file.
